


The North Remembers.

by delibell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, Love, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, jon snow x reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delibell/pseuds/delibell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First love is always the sweetest, but in turn, burns and hurts the harshest. (Name) Keylock is sent off to Kings Landing to take her place by Sansa Stark as her handmaiden, leaving the love of her life, a bastard by the name of Jon Snow, behind. Will they meet again? Only after a long, hard journey that leaves (Name) in shambles, but whole, with an unchanged face but completely different in act.<br/>[FOLLOWS THE PLOTLINE OF GAME OF THRONES ALL SEASONS]</p><p>[DON'T OWN GAME OF THRONES OR YOU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. forbidden love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n; re-written in the spirit of the new season rapidly approaching! i hope this is more readable now and less cringey... love and appreciate ya!

You gaze at your reflection in the mirror, carefully tracing the outlines of your still somewhat sleepy features as your quick fingers wrap a string of leather around your now finished (color) braid, without a hair out of place. (Color) eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of your room as satisfied you pull away and re-think every single little detail that had already happened and will happen on this very day.

Today you are officially assigned to be Sansa Stark’s handmaiden and are to follow her journey all the way to Kings Landing.

Turning away from the mirror you throw a heavy bear coat over your shoulders, tie the knot and exit your chambers. Jumping down the wooden stairs you are greeted by your mother, who stands by the bar and gives you a silent wave and your father that had just entered the tavern with firewood in his hands. You brush past him with a smile and a ‘ _Good morning_!’.

The cool air greets your red cheeks as soft snowflakes land in your tightly braided hair. You sweep the square for any familiar faces, beaming once you note far away figures. You move fast, happy, though not too much as when you approach you realize your desired conversationalist is not among the group. Your fingers tug on your dress and you lift it ever so slightly so only the leather edge of your shoes can be seen and the neat edges of the fabric don’t kiss the dirty stone ground. As you walk you see Bran practicing archery with Theon and Robb standing by his sides, both looking as unimpressed and they are amused.

Robb is the first to notice you and offer a toothy smile; you bow your head and greet them with a shy hello.

“Good morning to you too, (Name)!”  He replies, elbowing Theon to follow in his example but the later just rolls his eyes and mumbles something about ‘ _being smitten’_ , though his sentence is bitten off by Bran shooting the arrow. Your heart makes a pleasant jump as the three boys are left behind your back. You always felt so pleased when either of them referred to you in a calm familiar manner. It is to be expected, of course, your father and Lord Stark are good friends, but still, not many noble children treat others with such care and diligence.  To tell the whole truth, the only reason you are trusted with Sansa is because of your close relationship with the Starks. That and your talent with a thread and needle.

You all grew up together, playing in the same pen, in the same forest and shed behind these tall bleak houses. Theon, though not a brother by blood, had always treated you as more of a sister than any of the boys: he fancies your jokes and is always in a mood to give you harsh time, and when you were kids he loved to pull on your hair and mess up the braids you were so set on making perfect. Arya came much later, as did Bran and Rickon, and the two of you are not as close as you wish to be, but you are still friends and to her you are somewhat of a role model – a lady that not once or twice stole a wooden sword and held her ground against one of the taunting Winterfell boys. Jon was, is, and always will be your number one, and to him you are the most important person in the world despite his failure in showing it. And to Robb…Robb…how different he is from the rest, you can never fully figure him out. He always treats you kindly, almost delicately as if you are some sort of picked flower from the Glass Gardens that will heave and wilt from the slightest of wrongdoings. He picks his words carefully, afraid to make a mistake, and tries to avoid your playful gaze to his upmost extent. An unknown fire always dances in his eyes when he is around you, but you never question it. Perhaps you don’t dare. Or you simply already know the answer to his yet unasked question.

These thoughts follow you as you make your way to the gate. Behind you, you faintly catch Theon jesting about you being a better archer than Bran could ever hope to be. You shake your head softly. You are horrible with a bow and arrow, and he knows it.

A gush of cold air blows at your hair and makes the braids dance as your pace comes to slow. You feel excitement spur in your chest, a smile so bright gracing your lips that it puts the wildest of fires to shame. With an exhale of warm breath his name leaves your lips, your body splashing into motion as you rush to him almost desperate to feel his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him into a tight embrace.

Jon seems utterly lost for a moment, his arms dangling awkwardly in the air before he has enough sense to hug back. A timid smile makes way to his still boyish face as he whispers your name into your hair, a spur of happiness lighting in his chest before he douses it and pulls away. As you part from him, you find yourself at a loss of words as your eyes meet.

“I couldn’t…” The weather feels warmer than it was a mere minute ago, you are positive, “-wait to see you.” You finish, the same grin still pressing to your face. Jon chuckles dryly, unsure of what to say, as his hands still linger on the sides of your waist. Instead of words he chooses action and pulls you in again, savoring the warmth of your skin and the sweet scent of your perfume before letting you go. His gaze drifts to the gate barely ten meters away, searching for something or  _someone_  that is not supposed to be looking. He then turns back to you, flustered and joyous, feeling bitterness on the tip of his tongue but he skillfully masks any discontent and grabs you hand leading you away from any lurkers.

You giggle as he drags you through the snow, oblivious to his inner turmoil, at least for now. You enter the Godswood, the tall trees thickening as you venture deeper and deeper, feeling a sense of relief and freedom – finally, the two of you are completely alone. Jon must’ve sensed the shift in the air itself – crisp, calming and free– as a laugh of its own bubbles in his chest and he looks back to smile at you. Finally, the two of you plop down next to a live stream of clear water. Your fingers had started to freeze a bit ago, but only now did you sense the urgency of warmth as they prove hard to move. Jon is quick to put his hands over yours, bringing them to his lips as he blows softly, warming your fingers in a moment as his eyes find yours again.

“No one saw,” You reassure, “-and even if someone did, I doubt they would tell.” His mood turns sour at your words, his face hardening and he frowns. You immediately lean in and squeeze his hand as if to prove your point, “Jon” you call gently.

He shakes his head, “If your father knew—“

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already does.” You cut him off coldly, but your expression melts and you smile timidly, “yet look at me now. Running in secret with a Snow and feeling like the Old Gods have given me heaven.”

“You deserve a great man, not a Snow.”

For a moment you ponder why exactly must he ruin every happy second the two of you share with his constant worry and self-loathing.  _Ah_ , your mind chirps,  _because he is Jon Snow_ , that is why. And to be completely honest…You wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You are the greatest man I have ever met.” You murmur inching closer.

“You have not met many, then.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his remark.

The two of you find yourselves in silence, surrounded by firm old trees, whose branches sway from the wind and the only thing filling the lack of conversation is the playful sounds the stream makes as it glides down just a few feet away from where the two of you sit. You feel cold drops dot your skin and melt on its hot surface and soon you note some tangling into Jon’s curly hair.

Your fingers grace his cheek before you cup it, “Every time…” you start, your voice losing the liveliness it always has, “Every time you are sad it starts snowing…” Your heart thuds painfully when he looks away, “What are you hiding?” You question is quiet and vulnerable and you gulp in an attempt to regain your strength. Whether he notices this or not, you don’t know.

He confesses so freely a funny thought occurs to you that he has most likely practiced for months, perhaps years. You feel your fingers go numb, the breath in your lungs freeze and a cold hand squeeze your heart so tightly that you thought it might burst.

“(Name)…” Jon whispers, his hand landing atop of yours, “You know this already, and you always have. I never hid it from you. Ever since I was little I have dreamed of joining the-“

“-Nights Watch.” You wheeze out, shutting your lips tightly. You feel tears creep at the corners of your glossy eyes but swallow them down, “I thought-  _hoped_ \- you had changed your mind. That you’d stay, for me.”

“But you are leaving as well.” He informs, “In Kings Landing you’ll find someone- someone greater than a Snow-“

“Oh, Seven Hells, Jon.” You snap, glaring at him “I don’t want a King, a Richman, or a Knight. I want  _you_.”

He is absent of words. Even if he had heard the phrase from you a million times (in counting), he still couldn’t believe you actually meant it. He gazes at you, your beautiful soft features, your loving eyes, the curl of your hair and almost forgets  _who he_  is and  _who you_  are. You are a friend of the Stark family, a rich bloodline, a tavern keeper’s daughter. He glances at the pricey glimmer of your jewelry, at the heavy bear coat and the warm dress of the finest material fit around your body.

You deserve someone of your status or higher… _Seven Hells_ , he doesn’t think the King is great enough to be your lover, let alone a bastard.

Jon is pulled away from his thoughts by the sweet taste of your kiss, his whole world drowning in darkness as he closes his eyes. His arms snake around your waist and pull you closer, lastly into his lap. Your lungs strike with fire and you pull away, your fingers tangling into his dark hair as you catch a few needy breaths. You smile cheekily at him.

The taste of forbidden fruit was, is, and always will be the sweetest.

~*~

White snowflakes are no longer dancing in the sky.

You find yourself standing by Sansa’s side, the girl practically ecstatic, though trying to keep it together. The horn had sounded a minute ago, and the whole of Winterfell had shuffled together to greet the King and his family for their short visit.  A line of Starks stands in front of the gates, their eyes foreseeing the upcoming carriage as the footfalls and whines of hoses gets louder and louder. You sway just behind the young girl, trying to contain a grin. Your eyes kept wandering back to Jon, he standing at the very back of the line and looking down as if in shame.

You gaze lingers on him for far too long to not be noticed as when you finally turn away you find Robb watching you curiously. He gives you a small smile. You give one back, silently hoping that the oldest son wouldn’t think much of your staring. You don’t want to get Jon in trouble.

All thoughts are erased when the carriage finally pulls over, the whole town holding their breath in anticipation for what is to happen next.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a prolonged exhale as awe flushes over you upon seeing  _the_  Jaime Lannister, or the Kingslayer as many spitefully call him. You had heard so many stories, doubted the truth of most of them, but were impressed nonetheless. Your fellow girls always spoke of him in dreamy tones and finally you understand why: he is quite the looker. You trail his handsome face and enchanting blue eyes trying your best not to get lost in their depth.

You are soon met with the Royal Guard, then the Queen and Prince. Last is the imp, of whom you had also heard tales, though none as ornate as the ones of his brother.

“My King.” Eddard greets, shaking the fat man’s hand. The King in turn only laughs loudly, slapping his old friend on the back.

“That’s Robert to you, Ed.” He says, “It has been far too long, my friend.”

“So it has.” Stark agrees, later welcoming the whole Baratheon family and inviting them along with the Royal Guard to join them in a meal held in their honor and the King of course agrees. You walk next to Sansa, silently glancing at the girl as she did the same with you. You send her a reassuring smile and she gives one right back. Suddenly you feel a firm grip on your hand, making you nearly yelp as you are pulled away from the crowd and behind your father’s tavern.

“What in the Seven Hells-“ You are more than surprised to find Jon Snow in front of you, his grip on you not loosening even an inch “Jon? What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, all right?” He blurs, making you blink owlishly, “About what I said…this morning.” It finally ticks in your heard what he is talking about – his desire for you to find someone better – and you sigh heavily.

“Please, let’s not do this now.” You beg, saddened. He perks, nodding and apologizing for starling you “We’ll talk later, all right? After the feast. I’ll come to you at night-“

“As in…my room?”

“Yes.”

He frowns.

“Why-“

“Just…don’t question me anymore.” You glare.

The conversation ends with that.

You enter the building unnoticed via the back door and hurriedly stalk to Sansa. You notice her sitting next to Prince Joffrey, and smiling to yourself you go to sit somewhere away from the soon to be princess to give her some privacy.

“(Name), dear, I need a hand!” Your mother’s words make you glance at her and rush to aid. She instructs you to bring the drinks around and gives you a heavy tray with pints of ale. You don’t mind the extra work – this is your family’s business, and you have worked here before even dreaming of moving to King’s Landing, so being a waitress for a minute or two doesn’t anger you.

Moving around you greet every man with a smile as you set down his drink, getting hollers of approval in the process. As you give the last soldier his ale you push the wooden tray under your arm, spinning on your heel and making your way back to the bar.

“A handmaiden and a waitress?” The voice is unfamiliar to you. Glancing at your side, you find Tyrion Lannister sitting on one of the stools right next to you. He takes a sip of his drink, setting the cup down before looking at you, “My, what a talent are we.”

“Those are just a few, Milord.” You reply cheekily, making him grin “You should see me with a thread and needle.”

“I am looking forward to that day, Lady Kaylock.”

“Would you cut the maiden a break, brother?” The devilish voice from before startles you, making you snap to your side where a man with golden hair is speaking.

“ _Ah yes_ , the Knight in shining armor is here, “ Tyrion mumbles, taking another sip before jumping off the high stool “Do excuse me, I’ll be going somewhere where I’m wanted.” And with that the Lannister takes off, easily getting lost in the crowd.

“Do forgive him; he has a flair for the dramatic.” Jaime Lannister takes his brother seat, requesting a drink from your rosy cheeked mother who is more than happy to comply. His bright blue eyes find your form again, trailing you up and down before he turns back to the older woman to thank for his drink.

Without the heavy winter coat, he looks much better and you can’t help but smile, knowing that from now own you’d see him like this each and every day when you work as a handmaiden. You admire Jaime – the stories you have heard of him proved him to be a real, fearless man…like a lion. What an accurate resemblance to the Lannister family crest.

“There is nothing to forgive,” You finally say, taking a rag and wiping the counter “It only seems that I and your brother share a similar trait.”

“Really now?” He asks, raising a brow “You don’t look like the drama type.”

“I would be happy to prove you wrong, Milord.” You shoot back, though not angrily. He narrows his eyes, and you narrow yours, though you can’t help but notice the smirk that is tugging on the corners of his lips.

“I noticed you come in through the back door.” He comments, making you stare. How did he notice that? “Why is that, may I ask?” You grin.

“You may ask,” You say, putting the rag down, “Though that does not mean I am inclined to answer.” Jaime Lannister gives a dry chuckle at your smart comment, and for a second all you can do is stare at him. Lastly, you have to excuse yourself when, this time, you father calls for help near the Stark table.

“I’ll be waiting for your return, Milady.” Is all the Kingslayer sayd, making a wild blush crawl up your neck and spread into your cheeks.


	2. night time lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual situations up ahead!

As the night continues, the tavern gets louder and louder with each drink. The solders let loose, dancing with respectable women and whores alike, whilst Eddard Stark and the King discuss fleeing topics that are not related to business or any other important matter. For a while you eyed your mother, cherry cheeked, talking to a guard from Kings Landing as he tried to show off his precious sword. A small smile makes its way to your face from his attempted flirtation, your own cheeks burning red from the heat.

Outside is already pitch back, occasional light from torches shimmering on the snowy pavement. The main doors keep opening and closing as people wish to come and go out the tavern with a partner or alone. You briefly glance at your father – he has already joined the drunken solders, singing songs about naked women and gold.

You are finally left alone and jobless, so sparing a look to the grand table – where the King and Warden of the North are the only ones left – you decide to excuse yourself before a man pulls you into a dance. Quickly, you bolt to the back, passing the giggling kitchen workers and waving them goodnight. They wave back, finishing cleaning up and ready to join the feast. You grab your coat, throwing it onto your shoulders and hurriedly tying the knot. A smile blooms on your face as you push the backdoor open, the cool night’s air pinching your cheeks. Excitement spurs in your chest and rushing to the square you look around for a man you promised to meet.

Your eyes wander to the candle burning in Jon Snows room, and biting your lips you hold in a squeal. Without wasting any more time, you rush to the Stark manor. Circling the house, you reach a dark window, knocking on it frantically. You turn your head sideways to see if anyone is near – no one in sight – and smack the glass harshly, blurring out a name.

You hear shuffling behind the window, and hugging the coat closer, you wait patiently for it to open. A sleepy female soon greets you, rubbing her eyes. She frowns when the wind smacks her in the face, “What in the Seven Hells do you want?” She grumbles. You merely wave at her.

“For you to move, sister dearest!” You huff, latching onto the railing, which is over your head, and using every ounce of strength and determination to hoist yourself up. You nearly fall – Lilian is quick enough to grab onto your hand and keep you steady. The coat proves to be a hassle and you make a mental note to yourself that next time when breaking an entry to wear lighter clothes.

You sigh heavily whilst Lilian closes the window behind you. Briefly looking around her bedroom you grin– yours is much bigger. She rewards you with a displeased look, crossing her arms over her chest as you take off the bear fur.

“And what exactly are you doing here this late?” She pesters. You throw it on her bed, turning to her and taking out a Silver Stag and shoving it into her warm hands.

“This is for your silence, Lilian.” You tell cheekily, clasping your cold fingers around hers , “And don’t you jest – I know you would’ve gone to Septa Mordane despite helping me get here.”

“You would’ve broken your neck!” She flares up, tangling her fingers with your own, “And then what would have I told mother and father? That my sister perished by her own stupidity?” You have to hold in your laughter. Lilian’s glare hardens, her hold on your hands tightening “What are you doing here?” She repeats the question staring into your eyes. You see yourself reflect in them - a smiling, happy red cheeked face shining from the moon light. You squeeze her hands, feeling excitement bubble up again.

“I’m here to see Jon.” You say softly, the huge grin falling into a timid smile as your sister’s face draws blank of any emotion. She stares at you for a moment before sighing and shaking her head – there is no way to talk you out of it, is there? She lets go of you, glancing at the silver coin before she hides it between her sheets.

“Don’t get caught, please.” Is all she says, yanking her heavy quilt and getting back to bed. She turns on her shoulder, her back facing you, making you snort. Is she trying to ignore you? Well, you aren’t going to stand around and question it.

“I’ll be back before sunrise to get my coat!” You whisper, stalking to the door and gently prying it open. Glancing around for any living beings, you quickly shut it behind you and bolt down the corridor and up the stairs, holding your dress up. Tumbling over would not be good.

Finally, you stand by Jon’s door, suddenly not as eager to step inside. The butterflies in your stomach go loose again, (color) eyes twinkling like stars as a smile brighter than the very sun lights up on your face. Lastly, you click the door open.

Poking your head in, you see him hunched over his writing desk, the candle you saw burning from outside lighting up his room. You make sure to be as quiet as possible, sneaking into his room and softly clicking the door shut behind you. He doesn’t react – either he doesn’t hear or he is already sleeping. Stalking to him you have to hold in a snicker, inching closer and closer until you are standing right behind him. Your hands come to rest on his shoulder, the muscles under your fingertips tense up as his curly head shakes lightly, as if startled.

He turns back to you, standing up the next second, surprised to see your smiling face.

“(N-Name)…” He utters, “What are you-“

“I told you I’d come visit.” You say, “It was a promise. And you know the saying of my family—“

“-A promise is a key we lock. May it never be left open.” Jon finishes for you, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. Even now he is trying his best not to seem like a kid who just got to taste his first ale – though you can tell he is just as happy to see you as you are to see him. Perhaps…even more.

Tilting your head to the side, you admire his deep brown eyes and the already growing beard – he is a true man, no doubt about that. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you move closer.

“I want you to know that I love you and that will never change.” You say, a pang of hurt hitting your heart when you see sadness flash in his eyes, “Even if you leave to join the Nights Watch and…and take an oath…” It is getting hard for you to speak, “I’ll always carry you in my heart, Jon Snow. Even if I’m married off to some fat merchant.” You finish on a lighter note, trying to make him laugh but failing miserably. Squeezing his hands, you smile softly, “I believe, that despite all odds…if you truly love me, then we will meet again. And when we do, we’ll never break apart.” You clear your throat, briefly glancing away. When you look back, you find him a bit closer than you remember him standing a second ago. You feel his breath fan your parted lips, and gathering the courage you gaze into his eyes, “So I must ask you, Jon Snow. Do you love me?”

His hand leaves yours, fingers cupping your cheek as a small smile finally stretches on his lips.

“I do.” He says firmly, “I loved you from the day we first met.” It feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, and you sigh out an anxious breath through your nose, shutting your eyes in the process. You feel a soft pair of lips on your own, his peach fuzz tickling the sensitive skin of your face. Your hand released his, hugging his neck as his other hugs your waist, the kiss that is meant to last a second prolonging. You feel your lungs on fire, skin tingling from his fingertips as your nose fills with his musky scent. You part when the lack of oxygen starts to strangle, but can’t get enough. Jon briefly rests his forehead on yours, your noses touching, deep chocolate irises connecting with (color) ones “You have…” He utters, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “-no idea what you do to me…”

“Oh believe me, Jon Snow,” You whisper, your lips grazing his, “I do.” You finish with a wicked grin, for the first time this week seeing him smile so brightly. Fueled by love and desire, a brief thought occurred to you that perhaps it would be best to lock the door. But you don’t comply with rational thinking; you don’t want to move away, instead capturing him in another delicious kiss. Your hand tangles into his curly locks, playing with them as your tongue plays with his, his hands starting to roam around your body and inch closer either to your ass or breasts. Pulling away, you felt your skin burn, desire blinding you quickly work on getting the sinful amount of clothes he has on off. Jon doesn’t seem to mind.

In a minute or two you yelp, giggling as you bounce on his bed, Jon taking his shirt off and joining you in a second. He cages you in between his arms, capturing you into a heated kiss. Your fingers trail his exposed skin, savoring his sculpted form and lastly tangling into his hair once again. He sits up, pulling you along in his lap as his quick hands fumble with your dress. Giggling into his lips you move to untie the knots yourself, getting the warm fabric loose in a minute. Time seems to slow, as Jon carefully slides down the first layer of your dress, admiring your collar bones, his eyes inching down the white dress shirt that covered the rest of your body. You suddenly feel naked – even if you aren’t yet – a need to look away or pull your dress up becoming like an itch you have to scratch. You restrain though, seeing how happily his eyes shine as he gazes at something he probably wanted when he hit puberty. With great willpower, Jon forces himself to look at your face, grinning like an idiot.

“Like what you see?” You ask, raising an amused brow.

“Very.” He replies, lifting the hems of the white shirt up. Raising your hands, you exhale softly when the cool air of his room fans your exposed breasts. The white curtain is lifted, your shirt thrown somewhere behind you as  let his hands rest on your waist before they slowly started inching upwards, as if still unsure “I’m all yours…” You murmur, aching for him to touch you.

Jon kisses you passionately, knocking the wind out of your lungs as you melted into him. Soon he left your lips red and tingling, his mouth trailing your jaw and going down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses at its wake. You arch your neck, giving him more space to work with, shutting your eyes and savoring his touches. A shiver shakes your form when he sucks on a sensitive spot, your lips parting open to release a sound but you manage to hold it in. He moves on, down to your breasts...


	3. the glass gardens.

You pry the door open, poking your head out and glancing at both sides to make sure no one is snooping around to see you leave Jon’s room. Hurriedly, you turn back to Jon, his eyes fixed on your clothed form as if he is deep in thought. It took a minute for him to figure out you are staring at him expectantly, and he smiles lightly, squeezing your hand before letting go. You quickly bolt out his room with a wave and a flirty smile, the door closing as you leave.

Your hair is still a bit of a mess, cherry cheeks and a faraway look in your (color) eyes informing anyone who cares enough to notice that you are head over heels in love. Trying not to linger for more than needed, you march down the hallway, and making as little noise as possible, yet a giggle escapes you despite your attempts.

Memories are cheatable things... Sadly, memories of him will soon be all you have.

You shake those pesky thoughts out your head, trotting down the stairs and turning a corner. You nearly collide with the young Arya Stark. Abruptly you stop. The girl frowns confused, tilting her head up to stare at you.

"Where were you?" She asks slowly, making you gulp nervously yet you mask it with a bright  ~~forced~~  smile.

"I was speaking with your brother, Arya." You say. There is some truth to it, after all. "Why do you ask?"

"Robb was looking for you," She explains, her sharp eyes fixed on your own. You hold her gaze not faltering, noticing a smile stretch on her lips, "I'm glad I found you first, actually. I wanted to ask you for a favor."

"What is it you need?"

"Septa Mordane will end me if I don’t finish sowing my handkerchief,"  _Ah_ , you already knew where this is going. Cracking an amused grin your eyes twinkle with mischief as Arya frowns at your cheeriness, "--Please?" She sighs out.

"Leave it in Lilian's room; I'll finish it in an hour." You wink, making her nod eagerly, "Just make sure no one will notice you, because Septa will end me too." You finish with a dry chuckle.

"(Name)!" Sansa's voice startles both you and her sister, making you shoot your head back to the girl's direction. She doesn’t seem in the best of moods – brows burrowed as her eyes shine with annoyance. She marches to you fiercely and out the corner of your eye you note Arya slip from your vision, her quick footsteps fading far behind. She left. Ignoring the twinge of annoyance to suddenly be abandoned, you give Sansa a gentle smile and perk your chin up attentively, waiting for her to continue. "Robb was tearing the place down looking for you,” She says bitter, crossing her arms over her chest as she stops moving, "Where in the Seven Hells were you?" A frown twitches but you compress it, disliking the fact that you've been asked that question two times in the past five minutes. Your posture doesn’t falter though, only becomes more stiff and precise.

"Well, I was at the Godswood mostly. We're leaving soon, and I wanted to...To mull it over. Say goodbye." You say with deep pauses, letting your lies sink in, your tone lowering as you finish the sentence. "Then I came to talk to Jon."

"About what?" Sansa pries.

Your hand comes to rest on her shoulder as you lean in slightly, "Things you are far too young to understand, my dear." Her brows flicker upwards, clearly unimpressed. "You still have your whole life ahead of you. One day, perhaps you'll know what I am talking about."

"Well why can't I know now?"

You crack a smile, "Because if you haven't figured it out yet” You grab her chin and shake it playfully, “ – you shouldn’t." You watch her pout before letting go. "Now, where is Robb? I believe he had waited enough." Sansa’s eyes shimmer with mystery, that or it is simply a trick of the light. But deep down you know she is just dying to say something, yet can’t for one reason or another. Instead, she raises her head high, smiling proudly as she continues to stare you down.

"He's with Theon, training." She says proudly. You nod at her words, excusing yourself and promising to braid her hair once you are free.

Cool brushes of wind tickle your neck and curl your hair, making it float and sway as your eyes sweep the courtyard – it’s not hard to find the two brothers-in-arms, or Jaime Lannister, who seems to be engaged in a sparring match with Robb. You falter in your stance, your eyes narrowing from the sharp sound of swords clashing. Metal glisters in the sunlight and you follow the Kingslayer in interest – such grace and elegancy, how can you resist? Though he is light on his feet and careful in his step, you can feel his power more than you can see. His sword work is quick but heavy, almost like a dance. You gulp. He truly is a knight. 

Bright blue eyes connect with yours only for a moment, making a lone butterfly tickle your stomach as your lips tilt into a smile for Jaime and you could've sworn you saw Theon roll his eyes. You snap out your daze – no wonder your mother had acted like a fool the night prior, Jaime Lannister is a quite the charmer. Grabbing the sides of your dress you move through the courtyard, nodding your head at the sparring Robb who only now notices you, before you turn to Theon.

"What's that grin for?" You question instead of saying 'hello'. He licks his lips, shrugging lightly before his eyes land on the clashing swords.

"You kept standin' 'round like a fool and starin'. Thought somethin' happened to you." You surpass a giggle at his comment, gulping down the urge to smack him on the arm. Perhaps, if Jaime Lannister wasn’t around you'd do so, but for now you'll restrain, "Glad you're finally here, though," He suddenly says, "They'd been at it all morning." He motions his head to the two now shaking hands men, "I almost thought I'd die before they ended."

"Wanted to take part that badly?"

"I'd much rather get some ale."

"Lady Keylock." Such a pleasant jump in his voice makes you smile and you turn to see the blonde haired knight standing behind you, bowing his head in respect. Your heart flutters at the motion. "I couldn’t help but notice you watching us train."

"Milord." You bow your head as well, "How can I not?"

“(Name),” Robb is quick to butt in, “May I have a word?” His voice portrays urgency and a cold hand squeezes your heart – had something happened? No…neither Arya nor Sansa mentioned even a word of distress, Theon as well. Nervous, you glance between the two brothers-in-arms, searching for any alarming signs. When you find nothing you sigh softly, nod stiffly and excuse yourself to follow after the older Stark brother. He hands his sword to one of the trainees, glancing back at you to make sure you aren’t left behind.

His pace slows as you reach the Glass Gardens, little conversation exchanged. His expression softens once your eyes meet, so much so the shift from his usual playful, though hard, exterior is a bit too sudden for your taste. The deep brown swirls of his eyes glimmer with something you can’t make out for the life of you. You enter. The tall glass doors shut behind you with a soft click. All sound dissipates, only the gentle  _tap tap tap_  of running water echoes in the large shutoff area. The whole of Winterfell is left  behind: the air is much warmer, sweeter, smelling of blooming flowers, grass and sprinkled spices, the sunlight seeps a bit harsher and the shadows from the tall bushes and apple trees create mirages with their glowing leafs. Tranquil is what you call this feeling that settles in your chest as you calmly waltz on the stone path and admire batches of blooming flowers and the ever quiet buzz of bees.

“I was told you were looking for me all morning,” You start, seeing as he is making no move to engage with you. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he is nervous. Your fingers arch to run though the soft petals of a nearby orchid, counting the specs of gold in her pattern and gazing at it with love, “and now that you found me you hardly say a word.” He can hear the smile in your voice, even if your back is turned to him. “Do you remember when we used to play here? You, me and Theon? We would rip off the leafs and exchange them as currency, seeing as using actual coin was forbidden…The caretaker would scream at us to no end, but we would always come back another day and make such a dreadful mess…” You face him, faltering when you find him standing much closer than you recall him being. His gloved hands take yours.

“This was your favorite place.” He states.

“It still is.” You admit. He smiles.

“Then I picked the correct spot.”

You frown, confused, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t follow—“

“I brought you here for a reason, (Name).” Robb cuts you off, though not angrily. He urges you to move through the gardens with him, and you do, yet still unsure. “I and my father have been discussing this matter for…years now, though I never got around to agreeing with him. But…when I found out you’d be leaving I have been thinking more and more about it and I have finally decided.” He turns to you and stops. You follow in his example. “(Name)…I want you to stay in Winterfell and become my wife.”

You faintly recall when you were a child, a reckless one at that, always sticking your nose where it didn’t belong and getting into trouble because of it. On one fateful summer night you snuck out your bedroom via window, sat there for a good while as you ogled at the magnificent stars shinning right above you. Getting down was easy; though getting back up as you had this brilliant idea to get a closer look was the real challenge. It was dark. The walls were moist with dew and in one uncalculated step you slipped – your small hand lost its grip and you fell backwards. The sky shown so bright it was practically neon, your lungs crushing from fright as your heart tumbled all the way to your feet.

The feeling of that night is similar to what you are feeling now.  _Dread_.. You had known for a long time that he loves you, you always knew yet you didn’t want to believe it nor think of it… And now, he is asking you to marry him? What about Jon? He’ll be devastated,  _Seven Hells_ ,  _you’ll_  be devastated!

“Oh, Robb…” You utter, shaking your head softly, saddened and confused, “You know I cannot do that. I’m your sisters handmaiden, I cannot marry you---“

“You’re not her handmaiden. You’re (Name) Keylock, a dear friend to my family and me. My father approves of this. And yours does as well.” You freeze.

“How long have you been planning this?” You ask appalled.

“A long time.” He admits. You are unable to look him in the eyes, "Sansa can find another handmaiden...I need you more." At his word his hand squeezed yours as if wordlessly asking for you to look at him. His other hand reaches your face, fingers softly hooking a loose strand of (color) hair away from your pale face, a loving smile blooming on his lips as he tilts your chin. "It's a lot to take in, I know. You don't have to give an answer now. Even If you change your mind in Kings Landing – send a raven. I'll be waiting for your letter for as long as you wish."

~*~

You sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair with your hands tangled in your messy hair and stare into the crack in the wall with no idea in mind. Your aunt snorts at your depressed state, mockingly rolling her eyes before sitting up straight in her bed. You try your best to block out the moans and screams coming from the other rooms. You never liked visiting the whorehouse, but this is the only place you knew you can find her.

Finally, you glance at Relina – her long frizzled hair is pulled back into a messy braid, her body positioned in such a way that all of her curves shine in the right place for the right eye to see. Her skin, though covered by something that can be considered clothes, is bleak, bruised and red at spots. Her eyes are a mirror image of your own, though – (color) and once full of life, though by now that spark had been blown away. She tilts her head, examining you just as you are examining her. You know her well enough by now to know when she is about to say something insensitive or vulgar, and before she can open her mouth you hold out your hand to stop her.

“Please…” You say tired, “Not now, aunt Relina.”

She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth and crosses her arms over her chest, “I love when you visit, sweetheart, I really do, but if you’re just going to hog the chair and waste my time, the very least you can allow me to do is share my nightly ventures.” Her responses are always like this – witty and to the point, a whole world of knowledge hiding behind a skillful naïve façade.

“I just…” You mumble, lowering your head, “I don’t know what to do…”

Relina sighs, “Don’t know what to do? You are a fool for not agreeing immediately! How many girl would throw themselves in front of Robb Stark and beg him to take them as wives…I know at least half the whorehouse would.” You wilt from her words, “Why even come here in the first place?” She starts, standing up. This question is one she always asks you when you come to visit – you wonder if she doesn’t enjoy your company as much as she pretends to. “Why not ask your mother? Lilian? Your friends?”

“They don’t know about me and Jon…”

“Loving a bastard is nothing to be ashamed of.” She says offhandedly, pouring herself a glass of drink, “I have loved plenty in my time.”

“I am not ashamed!” You snap, “I’m lost because I don’t know what to do!”

“Do you really?" Relina raises a brow, "Child, you're just like your father – asking questions you know the answer to. Ask yourself this...Do you want to marry Robb Stark?" You shake your head, biting your lower lip, "Well, you're a bloody fool for trading him for a bastard that's leaving to take a chastity oath, but the heart wants what the heart wants, no? Your family would say the same."

"You are my family."

"I meant better family." She cracks a smile, though hardly seems amused "My profession isn't exactly worthy of the Keylock name."

"Yet somehow you always know what to say."

"Or maybe you just know how to listen. Look. (Name), you're leaving for Kings Landing in two days. I've only been there once and let me just say this – it was beautiful with rich young rich men hanging on every corner, waiting for a (color) haired, (color) eyed pale cheeked northerner to enter their life. You'll forget all about these Stark boys in no time. The world is so big," She cups your cheek, making your teary eyes find hers "-I want you to see and experience it all before you lock yourself in Winterfell or cry your days away for a Snow. There are better men out there, better life out there and a better future for you. Go with Sansa, (Name). Winterfell isn't for you. You're a summerchild, radiating happiness in such a grim place... Go where the sun never stops shining."

~*~

"You should marry him." Jon says coldly, "He'll be a good man to you." You frown, pulling the sheets closer to your naked body.

"But I don’t want to." You declare, making him glance at you, "The one I want to marry is you."

"I'm leaving for the Night's Watch."

"And I for Kings Landing."

"You can always come back." He says bitter, making you falter – since when is he so good with comebacks? Must've picked that up from you. You inch closer, not wanting to fight. It is your last night together. The carriage is already prepared for morning along with all of your belongings. The least you can do is spend the time you had left with him peacefully.

His deep brown eyes find your innocent ones, his gaze dropping to the (accidentally) slipping sheet that exposes more and more of your skin. Using that to your advantage, you capture his lips in a sweet kiss, his hand coming you cup your cheek and bring you closer. As you pull away, you came to rest your forehead on his.

"I am not giving up on you. No matter what you say, Jon, I won't give up on us. I swear it to you. A promise is a key we lock--"

"-may it never be left open."


	4. the road to kings landing.

_Heavy footfalls bolted down the wooden stairs making dust dance and latch onto the hem of a heavy leather dress. Frantic calls of your name and giggles coming from you echoed in the empty tavern, your long braided hair floating in the wind as you dashed for the bar, knocking every chair or table that stood in your path. Your mother’s voice boomed from downstairs, frantic and angry. You hid behind the bar, yanking a cabinet open and hurriedly getting in it. A small purse of coin jiggled as you got comfortable, your vision drowning in darkness as you quietly shut the cabinet’s door._

_"(Name) Keylock, Seven Hells you crazy girl! Get back here now!" Your mother yelled, her footsteps approaching your location. You put your small palm over your lips, trying not to giggle._

_He'll be here soon, he'll be-_

_You heard the taverns door creek open, the chatter from outside filling the quiet building. Your mother’s movements stopped._

_"Robb, how lovely to see you this early." Your mother chirped - you practically saw the loving smile playing on her face, "What brings you here?"_

_"Good morning, Lady Keylock." Robb greeted, "Septa Mordane asked me to bring you. She's in the pottery."_

_"Oh, then I best not keep her waiting." She replied, "Thank you, Robb." And she rushed out. The door shut behind her and your home fell quiet again._

_"…(Name)!" Robb whispered, "(Name) she's gone, you can come out now."_

_"No!" Your muffled voice was heard, "She's standing by the window, waiting for me! Go upstairs; she'll think you went to see Father." Robb did as instructed, and before long you crawled out the tight space of the cabinet, releasing a few coughs and dusting your dress off._

_A twelve year old Robb Stark stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as your ten year old self grinned right back. Hurriedly, the two of you rushed to a nearby table, you yanking out the coin purse and untying the leather thread._

_"Your mother was easy to fool." He commented, eagerly watching as the gleaming coins spilled on the wooden table._

_"It was my plan, what do you expect?" Your eyes roamed the beautiful copper and silver pennies, searching for one particular "I still can't believe Theon chickened out."_

_"He's afraid of your mother. Her yelling could be heard all the way from the stables."_

_"Oh! Here it is!" You exclaimed, grabbing the emerald green coin and shoving it into Robb's face, "Look look, it's a dragon!" The young lord examined your findings for a moment or two, before his brown irises flickered to you._

_"A lot of coins have dragons on them." He said, a smile tugging on his childish face, "But this one--"_

_"--This one's different." You finished for him, your (color) irises sparkling "Have you ever seen a green coin before? It must be special!" You took the coin from him, examining it for the umpteenth time: it sparkled from the morning light, a twisted dragon with its mouth on fire staring right at you. Flipping it, you re-read the words in a foreign language yet again, each time hoping to understand what they meant and each time finding disappointment._

_"It has to mean something," You turned your messy heard to lord Stark, finding him staring at you "-and we're going to find out what that something is."_

But you never did.

Your head rests on the cool window as the rocking of the carriage lulls you to sleep, your fingers fiddling with the emerald green coin you stole from home that many years ago along with Robb Stark. With the pads of your fingers you trace the edgy surface of the carved dragon, your eyes fixed on its small eyes that glare at you. Abruptly, you clench it in your first and shove it into your pocket, coming to stare into the blurry scenery from outside the window.

You'll be in Kings Landing soon, and you wish of nothing more than to return to Winterfell. To your home. To hide in the same cupboard and steal the same coin purse over and over again without being noticed. So visit the Godswood and demand the Old Gods and the New for answer you aren’t meant to get.

...But most of all, you want to see Jon's deep brown eyes for one last time. They are still fresh in your memory, glimmering like a stream of water in sunlight. So warm and welcoming. The image makes your lips tilt upwards into a sad smile.

 "It's something else, isn't it?" Startled you turn your head to the little Lady – Arya - seated in front of you. She had demanded to be in the same carriage as you. She is the only other person awake.

"What do you mean?" You clear your throat, sounding more tired and sorrowful than you expected. Her gaze pierces you –it feels like she knows every last one of your secrets and that causes your senses to alert and stay sharp.

"Why you didn’t agree to marry Robb." She clarifies watching your expression closely,  "It's not just because of Sansa, is it?" Your throat runs dry as you quickly glance at the two other sleeping maids and the Septa. Finally, your attention returns to the girl. You shake your head.

"What does it matter?" You mumble, "There is no reason for me to stay in Winterfell anymore. I just wish...That we could've helped Bran more." At the mention of her brother’s name Arya flinches almost violently, her first determined stance faltering as she looked away. "He'll heal, Arya. The Gods will help."

"The Gods are cruel." She spits.                                                

"And they're also giving." You give her a faint smile. She cast her eyes down in shame, "I was a lot like you, you know. I didn’t believe in Their greatness, nor did I appreciate the thread and needle. But then my sister fell ill" You lean in, "so ill I saw the life slip out her eyes and her cheeks cave in." Your lips stretch into a bitter smile, "I foggily remember stumbling into the Sept, blinded by tears I fell by the heart tree and I prayed to The Mother all night, begging for a miracle. I promised her to sow the longest scarf so she could protect all of her children from the cold, if she could just spare one life." You feel tears sting your eyes at the memory, "And she listened." At your words Arya lifts her head, "They all listen, Arya, this I promise. Bran will be all right. He'll wake up before you know it, if you just ask."

~*~

You aren’t sure for how long have you been travelling – the days and nights, taverns and the empty road with plains of grass on each side seemed to blur after a while. You are tired, you conduct as you shift in your seat for the umpteenth time in an attempt to ease your sore muscles. Septa Mordane had been as harsh as she always is with you and Arya, opting on making the two of you sow to pass the time. There was little chatter exchanged when she was awake, you and Arya working diligently, though unwillingly.

Days pass. The fresh wounds of young love sting harsher with each new sunrise.

You stare out the window, feeling twinges of excitement bubble in your chest and for a heartbeat you forget your grief and straighten in your seat, trying to catch a better look at the upcoming city.

“Girls, keep down.” Septa shushes the two gushing maids with one scowl. They fall quiet and back into the pattern they craft out of a tablecloth. “Keylock.” She calls you, but you have trouble breaking away from the snow free flowery grass and the clear blue sky as far as the eye can see. When she calls another time your shoulders jerk involuntarily and you finally turn to her.

“Yes?” You inquire. Septa frowns at you, perhaps it is simply her default expression, mumbling something about an ungrateful child before she decides to speak up.

“Our carriage will stop first. You'll have to attend to Lady Sansa immediately." She says sternly "And put a smile on that face, girl. You'll get wrinkly if you frown like that." She finishes, glancing at Arya "Well? We haven't arrived yet. Continue." The young Stark goes back to stitching.

…

…

…

Your breath locks in your lungs as your lips part, eyes roaming the castle in awe. The scent of flowers, the sea and expensive perfume tickles your nose, cheery music ringing in your ears as the heat from your warm dress makes a bead of sweat roll down your neck. You inhale, greedily, a smile blooming on your face as you follow the servants up the long flight of stairs to the castle, the most powerful people in the world walking just a few steps in front of you.

For a second you stop, your heart jumps at the view – absolutely breath-taking! The streets are littered with brightly dressed both women and men, songs of ale and beauties reaching you all the way here. The buildings around you are renewed, dyed in happy colors with flower gardens on every corner. Down the line the houses became grudged, old as the color pallet shifted from bright to dull. And yet somehow, it still looks beautiful.

"Miss Keylock." The voice makes you snap out your daze and you blink, tilting your head upwards to look at the man – Jaime Lannister. You glance behind him – the heard of people are already by the castle doors, leaving the two of you alone. You feel a blush of embarrassment burn your paled cheeks as you step away from the railing.

"Milord," You bow your head, "Forgive me, I just have..." You glance at the scenery again, "-never seen a sight like this before." You finish.

"There is nothing to forgive. I myself still find it breath-taking even after all these years." He says, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile, "But we best hurry now. You'll have a whole lifetime to admire it, after all." He moves and you follow after him.

"Forgive me for prying, but may I ask?" You speak up, holding the hems of your dress as to not trip, "How did you feel when you first saw it, Milord?" He cracks a smirk.

"I stood in place and stared into the distance for forty minutes before my father yelled at me" He replies, "Casterly Rock is nothing compared to the capital. Wait till you see the rest of it. I'm sure it won’t disappoint, Milady." You grin.

"I am not a lady."

"Are you a lord, then?"

You would've laughed if it isn’t for the dirty look the guard gave you.

...meanwhile, far North in Winterfell Jon Snow puts his sword down, his saddened irises travelling to a familiar window – Bran's. His brother has yet to wake up, and Catelyn forbid Jon to see him. It pains him greatly, even more than you leaving. He frowns.

Winterfell is already so much quieter without you. But it is for the best, he tells himself. He is a bastard. He doesn’t deserve you, even if his heart heaves with a mere mention of your name.

He turns on his heel, yanking the sword and about to go put it back to the weaponry when he abruptly stops, his blood running cold as he gazes at the figure lingering by the taverns door. Bright (color) eyes stare back at him, dark chocolate hair messy from the wind as the woman that looks so much like you held her dress close to her body as a cool breeze blows again. Jon releases a heavy breath – it isn’t you.

He curses at himself, mad for getting so happy and for the spark of hope that lit up in his chest.

You are gone. And he decided that no matter how many ravens you'd send he would never reply, despite how much that would pain him.

It is for the best. You deserve better. He is a bastard...

...A bastard that loves you more than you can even imagine.


	5. a deal.

 

For the next couple of days you've been strictly learning the names of lords and their maidens, many of which the brides did not know about, and mapping out the castle. It is confusing, big and you often got lost going from one place to another, but each time you'd step out your quarters is like a new adventure just waiting to happen – excitement tints the air you breathe, the fruity perfume you wear masked the light layer of sweat your body was covered in from running around all day.

It is no surprise for you that you had to change your clothes, but for you to be given such a lovely dress--! Oh, and of your favorite color too! It isn’t anything even closely resembling Lady Sansa's gorgeous garments, but it is the next best thing. The fabric is smooth and pleasant to your skin, airy, allowing your body to breathe and bathe in the playful sunbeams. It floats in the winds as you walk, cooling your hot feet and even making you feel like a princess yourself. You thanked the Gods that your father was such good friends with Eddard Stark – it is no doubt his doing that you got such beautiful clothing and silver jewelry.

 Sansa mumblessomething under her breath, frowning and shooting a glare your way as you merely smile timidly, clasping the cap of the golden earing around her ear. Leaning out, you take a clean white cloth and gently wipe any red spots of blood that surfaced from the piercing.

"Don't pout," You tease, "You'll get wrinkles." You move to her other ear, throwing her long red hair over her shoulder and trying not to seem too pleased with yourself. The young princess rolls her eyes as you take another earing and angle it. Noting the upcoming pain, she quickly shut her eyes, wincing when the sharp needle of the earing pierces her flesh. Clasping it, you repeat your actions, lastly moving away and taking a small mirror from her table. "You can open your eyes now," You say, handing it to her, "The pain was worth it, I promise."

You can’t help but smile when awe shines in her big green irises, and proudly Sansa turns her head in different angles to admire your handy work. Putting down the mirror she beams at you.

"They're lovely." She thanks. You nod, taking out a brush and getting back to work.

"The Prince picked them out," You say offhandedly as you brush her long hair, "I was informed he spent quite some time deciding on which pair to gift you." By how suddenly straight she is sitting you can tell that telling her about how Prince Joffrey loves her means a great deal to Sansa. To tell the truth, you doubt he really picked those earrings – that's what you were told, but the Prince doesn’t seem like a romantic. But alas, if it makes Sansa happy, who are you to judge? "You should thank him. Have you seen the gardens? Quite a fortune was spent preparing for tonight."

"I will, “She murmurs, "and no...I haven't been there yet. Septa Mordane has kept me busy with sowing...I plan on giving Joffrey a gift. Septa Mordane said that was a good idea, and I was wondering...If you thought the same."

"Something handmade for the Prince?" You think aloud, "I think that's a lovely thing to do, Sansa. Even better than golden earrings."

"Prince Joffrey promised to dance with me tonight," You can hear the smile in her voice. Your heart heaves – it is the same daze, the same sweet note you'd always finish with when talking about Jon. "Could you make me...extra pretty?" You chuckle.

"Sansa," You stop your actions, putting your palms on her head and caressing her silky locks softly, "You are a _beautiful_  girl, and I doubt any amount of jewelry or braids can make you even more than you already are...It wouldn’t be fair to all of us if that was the case." You finish on a lighter note, making the girl giggle.

"Do you think he likes me?"

"Oh, that's a silly question – _of course_ he does! You have nothing to worry about, my lovely, this evening will go perfect – just as you and I imagined."

~*~

It got dark fairly slow and you still aren’t used to such pleasant weather at night. In Winterfell it would be already dark by eight and sometimes cold to the bone, but here there is no need to even change your silk dress.

For a while you admire the fire dancing in torches, fumes of light spiraling into the night’s sky and the twinkling stars above. Music and chatter echoe in your ears, laugher ringing ever so often and making you glance away from what you are staring at for the moment. You inhale – such a sweet and spicy scent of wine and foods, prepared by the best chefs out there. You can’t wait to try some yourself and the gathering saliva in your mouth proves that.

You part with your Mistress giving her the personal space she wants, though staying within arm’s reach if she needs anything. The evening is formal – Ladies dressed in their best silk and adored with rose gold and ridiculous braids whilst the lords loudly proclaim of their riches and achievements. You smile to yourself. This won’t last for that long, it never does. Once the children leave and the adults get enough wine, it will turn into a complete mess – royals will mingle with the poor either from genuine curiosity or pleasures whores are willing to offer for a pretty coin. You have seen it happen many times back home, and here...Well, the atmosphere is surely different, but people all around the world are the same.

 _Enough brooding_ , you mumble to yourself, bee lining for one of the lower class tables,  _I'm turning into Jon with this constant thinking._

Your movements falter, but only for a second, heartache piercing you but you quickly mask it and mutter an  _'Excuse me, Milord'_  as you pass some rich merchant that gapes as you walk by. Once by the table, you help yourself to a drink – wine seems to be favored by the Queen, and you guess that’s why every stall has it.

Taking a sip you nearly mewl –  _delicious_! The hot fumes go to your head faster than expected after a couple more sips, and with twinkling eyes you sweep the feast – some men are admiring you, though once your gazes met they look away. All except one.

Once your attention lands on him he smiles and moves in.

"I've heard rumors that a (color) haired girl whose beauty rivalled that of a Queens resigned in the Red Keep, but I did not expect to meet you so soon, Lady Keylock." You blink, surprised that he knows your name. As if not catching his poetic 'introduction', you narrow your (color) eyes in suspicion, bringing the silver cup closer to your chest, "Many men might get fooled by your pretty face, but I'm afraid to say I am one of those who simply won't be wooed."

It is as if something ticks in you, a memory of some sort, as you remember one of the names you had been repeating all day.

"Lord Varys," You blur ungracefully.

"Ah, and she knows. A pleasure, Lady Keylock."

"The pleasure is all mine," You bow, your cheeks burning from embarrassment or the alcohol, "forgive me, I did not expect to be approached so suddenly."

"All is forgiven, all is forgotten. Though, a bit of advice from an old man... You're in Kings Landing now, and people are going to approach you at all times. Best be ready. But don't worry, I don’t blame you. You seemed to be having a great time drinking on your own; it should be _I_  who's apologizing for wasting your time." Your tongue twists in your mouth and for a moment you draw a blank on what to say.  _The_   _Spider_ , as you recall being his alias, is truly a man of many words and keeping up with him will not be easy...Good thing you like a challenge.

You wish you collected yourself faster – by the time you did the silence had droned on for a bit too long. You smile, offering him a drink which he, of course, accepts. Handing him a silver cup filled with delicious red wine, you take a small sip of your drink as well, your eyes watching the eunuch closely before you part your cherry colored lips to speak.

"I heard many stories of you, Lord Varys." You start, quipping his interest, "Gossip travels fast, I'm afraid."

"I hope it was nothing too atrocious."

"No, not at all." You reassure, "Just talks about who you are and what you do. I am familiar with your story...If there is a tad of truth in it, that is. Many servants said you know everything." He chuckles.

"Not everything, I'm afraid, but I do hear whispers, Lady Keylock."

"--And they also informed me...that...You don’t approach people for no reason." You hit the nail on the coffin, "Is there something you wish to ask me, Lord Varys?" He doesn’t reply – instead his first innocent eyes examine you like a hawk as he tastes his drink, lastly offering you a lovely smile.

"Sharp, just as I was told." Varys says with his hand motioning for you to follow, "May we walk? It's getting a bit too crowded here for my liking."

In a leisurely pace the two of you stroll through the gardens. You spare Sansa a glance and feel a bit of shame swish in your abdomen – she is dancing with Joffrey with such a smitten smile on her face you feel bad for having to miss it. Sounds of drunken men and women melt into the background as the playful flicker of torches dim deeper into the gardens. With Lord Varys by your side you walk in pleasant silence, listening how the first near deafening laughter and music turns into incoherent buzzing. You wait for him to speak up but he seems to bide his time, enjoying the company you provide. You pass a few guards – though they send a curious gaze, their attention is soon back on the laughing ladies stumbling and swaying their way over. It gets colder; your skin prickles and you gave an urge to brush your fingers against your upper arms.

"I never liked formal evenings, “Lord Varys suddenly speaks, "-despite how elegantly they start out, they end as any other tavern feast. I believe you may know a thing or two about that, Milday." He turns to you, "Ask away if you wish."

"Indeed I do. Back home I had the pleasure of witnessing many of such festivities…All end ungracefully. Makes you wonder is it the traditions, or simply the people that are the same…” You trail off, eyeing the closed bud of a flower, “I am curious, Lord Varys, what is so important that can’t be discussed among others?”

 He thinks carefully of his answer, “Forming friendships away from probing eyes I believe is the best way to go about them. Wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles. You stop moving.

"Friendship?" You ask aloud.

"Making friends with the right people may one day save your life." He states, "Things here are much different from your home, Lady Keylock, and it's not only the scenery." With his head, he motions to the chatter, "Some people there  _want_  and  _will_  use you," He says, "-I just want to help you figure out which people you should allow to do so." Sensing your distress, he furthers his explanation, "I propose an offer – you have the charm and the wit to gather information I otherwise might struggle to get, and in exchange for this I offer my friendship and the secrets of all Seven Kingdoms at your will."

"There are lots of charming, witted and cunning women in this city," You narrow your eyes, "Why  _me_?"

"But none of them are to be wed to the Warden of the North, are they?" You freeze. His smile only seems to widen, his eyes twinkling in the dim light, "My proposal stands, Lady Keylock. Find me when you have decided. Now, best be off to the feast, things always get more interesting when Prince Joffrey is escorted to bed."

~*~

Once you return you note Sansa being escorted by other maids back to her bedchambers, along with Prince Joffrey and other children. She chats with Myrcella as she walks alongside her beloved Prince, who doesn’t look nearly as interested in the conversation as she is. Politely, you slip into the crowd of servants and push your way behind the to-be Queen one day, your thoughts wandering back to what Lord Varys said – making friends is crucial. You don’t think it’s that serious here, and you do have the chance to decline his friendship, but if he knows about Robb's proposal it means The Spider knows much, much more...

In order to protect Sansa, and yourself, you'll have to take up his offer...But, to be fair, do you really have any other option?

Your musings are interrupted by Sansa calling your name and staring at you impatiently as if waiting for you to answer her question. You blink, surprised, your gaze wandering to the young Stark and then to Prince Joffrey who also has his eyes on you. Once you met them you found it daunting how he refuses to look away – such a proud and cocky glimmer in his cool eyes doesn’t mix well with your current state. You bite back your resolve and glance away.

"May you repeat the question, Lady Sansa?" You ask.

"Why?" Prince Joffrey inquires, "Are you deaf or something?" Pushing your buttons seems to amuse him. You hold back an annoyed frown, instead fixing a timid smile and lowering your head to fake innocents.

"Forgive me, My Prince, the music is very loud and I did not hear what Milady said clearly. I do not wish to provide an untrue answer." You finish.

"It was nothing important." Sansa cuts in, "I was just wondering where you went."

"I was looking around – the gardens are decorated beautifully and I got a bit off track. Forgive me if my lack of presence caused you distress." What you get for a reply is a shake of her head, as all attention seems to fall from you to Sansa again.

 _Hm?_ , your ears perk. Did someone call your name? Turning your head back you sweep the gardens for the very last time, not catching anyone you know among people as the door shuts right in front of your eyes.

…

…

…

With a heavy sigh you throw yourself onto your soft sheets, your bones aching as you sink into the fresh, cool pillows. You hardly have energy to take off your dress – your feet ache from walking around from dawn to midnight, fingers hurt from either writing or braiding or both at the same time and your face twitches from time to time from the constant overly sweet smile. You are beyond tired, and knowing that you'll have to wake up in a couple of hours makes your stomach churn. Getting used to a new life is much harder than you first thought.

Alas, you get out of bed and change your clothes, briefly glancing at the small lamp on your writing desk – you'll have to write your family when get the chance. Due to your close relationship with the Starks you are given your own private quarters and you are grateful for it – though, part of you knows these silk sheets and breath-taking view is for (Name)  _Stark_ , not  _Keylock_. That doesn’t bother you as much as it should, though perhaps you are just too tired to care about Robb, or Sansa or even Jon.

Again, you find yourself back in bed; rolling into the velvety sheets you shut your eyes, falling asleep in an instant...

~*~

_Your breath hitched in your lungs as you gazed into his surprised, brown irises. Releasing a ragged breath you saw a puff of smoke come out your parted lips, your heart hammering with the realization of what was going on – in the Godswood, you laid on your back as Jon Snow had fallen atop of you by accident when he tripped on the Heart Trees root._

_Snowflakes softly spiraled from the sky as you continued to gaze into those never ending irises, seemingly getting lost in them and even noticing your own reflection shine in their depths. You felt heat crawl up your neck, spreading into your face and you knew very well that it had nothing to do with the warm of the body on top of you._

_Jon gulped, frightened, snapping suddenly and halting up on his feet and away from you as if burned. Slowly, you sat up, finally feeling the snowy surface seep into your clothes. A shiver ran down your spine from the cold. Fumbling, Jon muttered apologies as he quickly undid his coat, wrapping it around your shoulders and offering a hand for you to take. Still in a daze, you gently wrapped your fingers around his – strange, his hand was much bigger. In a second you were back on your feet, your hand resting in his for a bit longer than what would be considered normal. His touch left a pleasant tingle on your skin, and you couldn’t help but smile sweetly at him._

_"Sorry, for, uh-for, for what happened." He told lamely, letting go of you, "I-I hope I-uh, didn’t hurt you." You shook your head, your now messy hair bouncing by the sides of your face. Pushing a loose strand and hooking it over your burning ear, you gulped, wetting your dry throat._

_"It's fine, don’t worry about it." Was the best you could come up with at the spot. Were your eyes playing tricks on you or did you saw the faintest of smiles gaze his features along with a small sigh of relief? Jon Snow was quick to go back to his brooding self, his face hard and cold. He kept his distance as if afraid of you, "Why...why did you come here?"_

_"Oh—your father was looking for you. Your sister is getting better; at least...that's what I was told."_

_As if struck by lightning you gasped, snapping to the Heart Tree as tears stung your eyes._

_"Oh thank you, thank you!" You rasped out, suddenly turning to Jon. You moved closer, your arms reaching for an embrace at the joyous news but he moved back, making you falter but your mood did not dim. Despite his efforts you hugged him, your arms tightening around his neck as you hid your face in his shoulder, whispering 'Thank you' over and over again like a  mantra. Jon's arms hanged in the air for one awkward moment before he gently embraced you, holding you as if you were made of glass and would shatter at any given moment. When you pulled away you awarded him with your brightest grin, wiping salty tears from your eyes, "Thank you for telling me, I'll see you soon!" You told as you bolted down the snowy forest._

 


	6. thirteen.

 

 

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I got your raven, though I am sad to say I did not have time to write back. Kings Landing has been keeping me very busy. I hope everything is going well. Say hi to Lilian and Aunt Relina please._

_Sansa is treating me well. She hasn't changed a bit, despite you warning she might – she has only grown more beautiful with each passing day. Lord Stark has also granted me a bedchamber with a beautiful view and dresses by the dozens – thank you Father for asking him of this. I already thanked him, and now I thank you._

_I miss you all dearly and I have hope in my heart you will be able to visit soon._

_Your dearest,_

_(Name)_

_P.s. Tell Robb I'll write him soon._

The wind brushes against your reddened cheeks, a bead of sweat rolling down your exposed neck as your clothes practically stick to your body. Sun peeks out your open window, the whole city of Kings Landing just a glance away. You put down your quill, letting the ink dry for a moment before you neatly roll the parchment up. Tying a red ribbon and stamping it, you smile at your work – over the time that you have been here you had practiced the mastery of writing letters at least two hours a day.

Standing up from your seat you blink when the heat goes to your head, dizzy you grab onto your chair for support. Despite everything, the weather is the hardest thing getting used to.

Stalking to the mirror you examine yourself up and down. Deciding you'd wash yourself first, you put the letter back on your table and exit your bedchambers, bee lining for Sansa's room. She never minded when you took some of her sweetly smelling soaps; she even offered them to you.

You gently tap on her door, announcing your name but hearing no reply you pry it open and poke your head in. Empty.  _She is probably with Joffrey_ , or so you guess. Not wasting much time you snatch the flower oils and nose tickling soaps, exiting her bedroom in a minute.

...

The steam filled room makes you dizzy, and slowly lowering yourself into the hot water you try to drown out the chatting maids and the splashing of water around you. Your muscles relax as soon as submerge and releasing a small sigh of relief you can hardly wait to scrub your sensitive skin with expensive oils. For a while you just sit there, pondering how did you get so lucky when frantic footfalls make you perk up, a breathless call of your name briefly echoing in the hot room. You snap your head back surprised. There you find a sweat drenched newly made friend of yours, panting for air as her eyes pierce you like a lions.

"(Name)... _Oh_ , Seven Hells, (Name), please come quick..." She gasps, striking to you as she grabs a towel along the way. You stand up quickly, wrapping your body with the rough fabric, your mouth agape as the maid tries to dry you as fast as she can, "Lady Sansa requested you immediately."

"What happened?" You ask, concern riddling your voice. She suddenly freezes as does the blood in your veins. The maid bites her lip and glances away, her fingers searching for your robes, "Tell me." You demand, "-What happened?" She glances at you, shaking her head as she pushes your silk robes into your wet hands.

"Hurry." She swallows, "And... _I'm sorry_."

_You wiped the counter almost frantic, not missing a spot as you held a full bucket of water in one hand. It splashed on the ground and onto your dress as you moved, but not caring you only bushed your messy hair out of your face and continued to work. The sooner you helped your mother open up, the sooner you could run off to where ever it is you ran off as soon as she stepped through the door._

_The entrance of the tavern creaked, and snapping your head to the door a bright grin shone on your face. You expected to see you mother – fixed up, with two men who carried barrels of ale, her booming voice commanding the kitchen workers to get the chickens out the pen. But instead...Your smile dimmed as you slowly stood up straight, setting the dirty bucket onto the wooden ground. Instead, your eyes gazed upon tar black curly hair and deep brown irises. Jon cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable on how much you were staring. He glanced back, and seeing as no one was paying attention he stepped through the threshold, the door coming to shut behind him. You followed his every move – he held up his hand in a lame wave as if to say hello. A smiled tugged on your lips. You almost laughed._

_"I, uh...I came to...To see how your sister was doing." He finally said, his eyes roaming around the empty tavern before landing on you – his gaze pierced your heart, as for a second you wondered could he see right through you. You inhaled, slowly, feeling those same strange butterflies squirm in your belly as you quickly wiped your hands on your dress, "I'm sorry, you must be busy--"_

_"No," You quickly cut him off, "-no I was just finishing up. A few more tables and I'd call it a day." You told, stepping closer, "She's better, thank you. I saw her open her eyes today..." Your words died in your mouth, and unable to look at him you turned to stare at the dirty floor, "--first time in weeks." You added, short of breath. You didn’t quite notice how did he get this close, only lifting your (colour) irises up when his hand gently encircled yours. He squeezed it, as If to reassure you. You smiled, sadly. He gave a timid one of his own._

_Silence engulfed the two of you as dust slowly fell from the ceiling, shinning in the morning sun. The floorboards above your head creaked, but you were unable to pry away. A door upstairs opened. It was like you were in a daze of some sort – his eyes like magnets drew you in, and you couldn’t help but slowly get lost in them, letting the warmth of his fingers fuel the fire in your heart._

_"(Name)! (Name)!" Your father called. As if struck by lightning you yanked your hand away and Jon stepped back a good five feet away, awkwardly clearing his throat as you spun on your heel to see your father stepping down the stairs, "Ah, Jon, what a pleasant surprise!" He grinned, cheerfully._

_"Good morning, Mister Keylock." Jon said, briefly glancing at you before he fixed his eyes on the older man, "I came to ask how Lilian was holding up."_

_"Thank you for your concern Jon." You father said, coming closer. You turned away, mumbling something about the pigs in the barn as you stalked out the big room, "The God's have answered our prayers, she's doing much better. Come, sit down..."_

Your heart tumbles to the very core of your stomach, a  deep, never ending spiral that sets your head ablaze and makes the figures in front of you dance, despite them not moving. Your fingers go numb and our hands fall from their first neat fold by your sides, useless, as you crack your neck to Sansa. She sits with her head held high in authority, her face resembling one of those famous statues of old heroes with such cold fierceness portrayed on their timeless faces as they smite down the enemy. The milky whites, now red, of her eyes betray her – she is sad, sad beyond thought but too weak to protest. You part your lips to speak – they open unnaturally, stupidly, you feel like a fool for even trying to squeeze a word out your sore throat. You then slowly look at the Prince, even more uptight then Sansa, seeming pleased as he smiles in triumph.

"Sansa-" You utter, unsure of what to say.

"That's  _Lady_  Stark to you,  _maid_." The Prince says coolly. Your eyes wander down to your feet, though you hardly see them "And you heard her, did you not? Or have you trouble hearing? "

"No, Your Grace." You murmur.

"Look at me as you speak." He orders. You flinch; his words are loud and crawl on your skin like roaches. You slowly lift your head, careful not to fall into vertigo as a sudden burn pierces your eyes and you tremble, both from anger and hurt.

" _No_." You say louder, "Your Grace."

"That's better." Joffrey smiles, turning to Sansa, "You may repeat the sentence, Milady."

"You took my things without permission. And for that you shall receive thirteen lashes."

"I hope this sets an example for you all," The Prince says to the crowd of servants at the very back, "Taking your lords things will be punished." He then looks at you, "You're lucky it's only thirteen lashes. If it were up to me you'd get many more."

...

The sun burns your skin. Your lips are salty from tears. The buzzing silence dreadfully lets you focus on the uneven beats of your heart, the shallow breaths of oxygen you take and the tightness of these ropes that tie you in place. You can hardly bare to lift your eyes: they feel too heavy, glass like, the sun shines neon and it hurts, it hurts all over, both inside and out. You hardly care what is to happen, to be fair you hardly realize in what trouble you are in, as the only thing your mind plays is those sad eyes that lack the courage to do the right thing. You wonder what Devil got into her. You also wonder if finding out would change anything.

Footsteps break the silence, heavy, sinister as they approach with sick joy and eagerness. The two posts you are tied to finally take their toll: your palms tingle, the muscles of your arms hurt and the strain in your back aches. Your feet barely touch the rough ground. You gulp. The saliva travels down with great difficulty. No sound escapes your pursed lips – it feels like your throat is clogged with dry cloth and you nearly choke when you feel the breath of the man on the back of your neck. Gruff hands pull on your dress and the fabric tears with a ghostly whine. You know what is about to happen. Yet a spark of hope lights your chest and your ears tense almost painfully, searching for a sound, any sound – a voice, a clash of a sword – anything that meant your salvation.

It is just like when you finally fell that one summer night: you felt the ground call your name, you felt ready for what is to come, but didn’t expect it once the soaring pain slit you in half.

You hear the whip slash in the air – a sharp breath of the wind tickles your back – and you close your eyes and start to pray.

_Slash._

You can barely hold the yell that threatens to escape your pale lips – the man does not hold back, and if that sick snicker you heard behind is any indicator he enjoys this above anything else. You hear whispers rattle the crowd of morbidly curious onlookers – so many had gathered to watch you suffer, yet not one dares to step in and help. Could you, if the roles were reversed? You feel the skin tear, if only a little, hot streaks like tears rolling down the smooth surface of your back.

_Slash._

The whip falls on the first wound and opens it carefully like a new page of a book. The crowd gasps and looks away. Behind your eyelids you see stars and you hang your head. It burns. The sun. The pain. The betrayal.

_Slash._

_What hurts more_ , you try to ponder,  _getting whipped or betrayal_?

 _Slash_.

Yes, the two stand so close they are hardly detachable. Like two perfect lovers, hand in hand, created by the divine himself as the ultimate punishment. You bite through your lip – blood seeps into your mouth and swishes and you feel sick to your stomach.

_Slash._

How silly, a whip cannot break your heart!

_Slash._

But Sansa can.

_Slash._

But Sansa did.

~*~

Your head lays on a soft white pillow that has golden ornaments sew on its edges in a room that’s as airy as it is ornate. The raw skin of your back heaves and burns from the slightest of touches. Unfamiliar faces work around you – granted, even if you know these women, they are too blurry for you to recognize. They dip cloths into warm water and tenderly clean the bloodied skin around the wounds, the pout of your lips, the palms of your hands where your nails had found rest from gripping so tightly, the soles of your feet… You shut your eyes in pain and yelp, a tear escaping your iris and leaving a hot trail at its wake. You hear the door open, but don’t bother to see who has come to visit: if it is a friend then he means no harm, if it is a foe- death is a welcomed option.

The maids whisper amongst themselves before one leans in and excuses herself. The rest follow in her example. You don’t care. Slowly you pry an eye open – a blurry image of a man standing in front of you greets you vision, but it is so uneven and blurry it might just be a mirage.

“Lord Varys.” You recognize. You flinch at your own voice and then release a soft cry – you sound pathetic, and the wounds hurt from the lightest movement. He smiles sadly, eyeing you up and down, examining the maids’ handiwork, the cuts on your back…

“Lady Keylock.” He murmurs, taking a seat. His hands hide in his sleeves, and tilting his head his eyes roam the room in search of the right words to say, “Forgive me for not being there to stop this...-barbaric act." He finishes with distain, "I do not think taking soap deserves thirteen lashes." You say nothing nor do you show any sign of hearing what he said. This doesn’t discourage him, “People change. Here…They change especially fast.” He notes your jaw tense, “Not everyone here wishes to play nice, Lady Keylock. I suppose I am at fault as well – I forgot to mention how…vile nobles can be.” He licks his lower lips, his eyes drifting to the open windows – the sun peaks playfully, warm heat radiating as if to mock you, “Your Lady…Sansa Stark…I doubt she acted on her own accord. She was most likely pushed…I believe it is silly of me to remind you that you cannot trust her anymore.”

"So I should just leave her? Do I abandon her? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"I'm only trying to help, Lady Keylock. What I suggest is to act on your own accord. You and me, we are friends, are we not? You have the influence to get what you want. Protect the poor girl. The Gods know she needs someone to watch over her. You don't have to be her friend – forgiving this...Is not easy. Frankly, I have yet to meet a man, or woman, who could forgive betrayal. But without you...Lady Sansa in lost."

The room falls quiet. The pleasant chirp of birds hurts your head. You don’t know what to say, nor do you want to open your mouth again. Lord Varys stands up, about to excuse himself when you stop him.

"Tell my servants to write a letter on my behalf."

"Of course, Lady Keylock. To whom, may I ask?"

"...Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. Tell him I agree to his proposal."

 


	7. kingslayer.

 

~*~ 

You couldn't move for days, which caused many problems for both you and Sansa alike. While Eddard Stark was infuriated, upon having a long discussion with your bed ridden form you both agreed to keep this  _'incident'_  in Kings Landing – if someone from home were to find out a war would break out, you two were certain. Despite his cold face the head Stark is a good man, and you appreciated the hurt in his eyes he did not dare to voice aloud.

_"I still can’t believe...If only I was there this wouldn’t have--" with a quick motion of your hand he shut his mouth, his jaw tensing as those fiery eyes looked away from the wounds on your exposed back, "I have wronged you and your father. My daughter-in-law deserves better, I need to send a raven to your family--"_

_"It is alright, Lord Stark." You shushed him again, your voice low and raspy, "They will find out when the time is right."_

_"I don't want you to forgive us, (Name)." You stayed quiet at his statement, unsure of what to say._

Arya visited you often, telling you of tales and dressing your wounds. It caused you pain when her fingers gently grazed your burning skin – but you allowed her to do so anyway. The aching for a friendly touch was tearing you apart.

Sansa did not come to see you. Only her new handmaiden stopped by from time to time with a friendly smile and sad dark browns eyes to ask how you were feeling. Your answer as always the same, "I am well. Thank you for your concern." It was obviously a lie – the tears in your eyes and the marks on your lips from biting them so hard proved that. But it was as if they either did not care, or cared too much and simply did not know what to do.

Your back felt like hot wax and on many sleepless nights your groans echoed in your perfumed room, both from the lashed and the ache you felt in your heart. You could almost see his loving deep brow eyes gaze into your own; his soft fingers trace the outline of your torso and softly glaze over your mutilated skin. You were almost certain you'd instantly feel better if Jon was here with you. The mirage of him faded faster than you wished, making the ache in your chest all the more heavier.

One morning, though, you did manage to move after weeks of lying on your stomach and silently daydreaming your days away. Your posture is stiff and each step hurts like a God smiting you down but you persist and with the help of maids you befriended on those boring sick days you are escorted to the gardens.

Wind blows on your back, making you arch uncomfortably – your dress does not cover the hurting area. Your eyes sweep the blooming flowers, servants, guards standing post, lord and ladies on their morning stroll or having a cup of fruity tea. A smile makes its way onto your face –  _oh_ , how you missed being outside! You would gladly get lost in the maze or strike up a conversation with anyone really, but the maids keep you in place with gentle grips on both of your upper arms. They lead you to a terrace, surrounded by blue flowers and buzzing bees. The shade provides a bit of a cool for the fast heating land. The maids dance around you, chatting your ear off with the events that had happened last night and this morning. Something about Queen Cersei, but you don’t bother listening as you note a familiar glimmer of gold armor strolling down the garden. It doesn’t take long for him to notice you either; as once he does he changes course with a surprised smile, approaching you in a steady pace.

"Lady Keylock." Jaime greets, his eyes briefly glancing at the two girls behind you. Hurriedly, they leave with a bow. Your lips tilt upwards, "I'm glad to see you up and about."

"Ser Jaime," You say, "Thank you for visiting me in my...darkest hours. It was horrendous not moving for so long." As you speak he takes a seat next to you, his armor clinking as he does.

" _Ah_ , yes, about that...You were treated wrongfully; I hope you don’t think I condone such acts, Lady Keylock."

"(Name)." You fix him, watching his friendly expression morph into confusion, "I call you by name, Ser, and you should too." A knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"Lady (Name), then?" He asks, a note of playfulness tinting his voice.

"The lady part still throws me a bit off."

"Lord (Name), then?"

You can’t help but laugh...

…

…

An hour later the tearing pain numbed into an unpleasant soreness.  You throw your head back with a melodious laugh, your cheeks dyed red as sparkly tears nearly escape your closed (color) eyes. Your fist clenches the silver cup, red liquid almost spilling all over your dress as your older companion tries to contain his chuckles whilst having a re-fill.

"And then he ran away, just like that." He continues, as if not believing his tale himself, "Leaving his robes and everything. I mean, I know I should've been more alert, but it was my tent--"

"-- _Oh_ , Ser Jaime, that's evil! Pure evil!"

"My tent! It was my tent!"

The two of you laughing turns some heads, but most just ignore you or murmur amongst themselves as they pass. You exhale a heavy breath, giggles still shaking your shoulders as you try to calm down but one glance at the already drunk man makes you burst into a fit of laughter again.

"So then, then the girl walks out, desperate and annoyed. Hair is a mess, completely naked – and might I add that snow was to up here" He points at his chest, "- it's freezing cold outside and she just stares at me. Not moving."

"Did you allow her to stay?"

"Of course I did!" He replies with a grin. For a while you catch your breath and chuckle along with him, lastly taking a big gulp of Cersei's favorite wine – it was Jaime's idea to have a drink this early – as pleasant silence settles between the two of you. You listen to the chirping birds unsure is it their melody or the delicious alcohol that makes you so calm and relaxed. You glance at the Kingslayer, your heart jumping in your chest as you find his gentle eyes peering into your own. The heat on your skin flares and this time you are sure the wine had nothing to do with it. You look at him, look and wonder – how can such a man be considered a monster?  _Kingslayer_? Such an atrocious name... You were always courageous, but even you have your boundaries. They are briefly forgotten, "Tell me, Ser Jaime." You start, catching his attention, "Does it bother you?" The sudden serious, though curious, expression on your face puzzles him and he hums as if to ask  _'What does_?'. "They calling you the Kingslayer behind your back."

His face falls and however close he was to you Jaime abruptly leans out, awkwardly setting his cup on the stone table after letting it hover in his hand for a moment. He clears his throat; glancing at you he’s a bit surprised when he finds no malicious intent. He sighs through his nose, heavily at that. After licking his lips and tasting the last drops of wine on them he turns to look at you. " _Kingslayer_..." He says quietly. "Does it bother  _you_?"

"It does." You state simply.

" _Why_?"

"Because the man I see beside me does not deserve such a name."

Your words leave him speechless. You falter under his gaze – was that the right thing to say? Jaime takes a drink. You do too. Silence.

"They call me a lot of things." His low voice caresses your ears, "Oath Breaker. Man without Honor... have you ever seen a wild fire?"

"Only once. Was not a pleasant sight..."

"The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn." A cold shudder goes up your spine, "He burned lords and bastards alike...he burned children, he burned anyone who dared to stand against him. Before long...half the country was against him. And there were traitors everywhere." He gulps, "He had his pyromancer put stacks of wildfire all over the city....beneath the Sept of Baelor, the slums of Flea Bottom, houses, stables, taverns, even the Red Keep itself....finally, the day of reckoning came.  Robert Baratheon marched and boasted about his victory at the Triden. But my father was first, the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels....I knew my father better than that. He was never the one to pick the losing side. I urged him to...surrender peacefully. But the King didn’t listen to me. Didn’t listen to Lord Varys who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Meister Pycelle..." His jaw clenches, "' _You can trust the Lannister's_ ', he said... _'Lannister's have always been...true friends of the crown_.'...so, he opened the gates and...My father sacked the city. And again, I came to the King, begging him to surrender..." His face loses all color, "He told me to...bring me my father’s head and he...turned to his pyromancer... _Burn them all_ , he said." Jaime spits, " _Burn_...their homes,  _burn_  them in their beds. I couldn’t--…" Your hand lands on his shoulder, absentmindedly, but he doesn’t seem to notice, "I  _couldn't_  just...stand and watch him burn-I  _couldn't_.."

You have no words to say. You aren’t sure if there even is a reply. Any sentence you muster seems too little.  _Meaningless_.  _Unneeded_. His hand finds your and squeezes so hard your bones settle. But you don’t mind. Nor do you care if anyone sees either.

"You’re  _not_..." Your voice comes out meek and raspy, and quickly clearing your throat you glance at the near empty wine bottle as Jaime gazes at you, "You’re not...The Kingslayer in my eyes, Jaime."

It is the very first time his name slipped your lips without an honorific, and strangely neither of you seem to mind.

~*~

Your arm is wrapped around his as he leads you through the palace, your destination being your bedchambers as the somber conversation is left behind you, the pained look on your face now morphed into a sweet smile as you watch the sun peak out the windows.

"And what is it that you will be doing for the rest of the day, if you don't mind me asking, Milady?"

"Writing letters, mostly. A pile has risen upon my absence." You say light-heartedly, "Then...I will venture into the kitchens for a snack."

"Will you need assistance?"

You laugh, "I believe I will manage, but thank you for the offer."

"I insist."

"And I graciously decline." You finish with a smile, a note of disappointment pulling on your heartstrings – is the walk to your room really that short?! With a light tap on his arm you part, stiffly strolling to your door. You turn your head slowly to him, a timid smile replacing the joyous one as your hand lands on the doorknob, "Thank you for keeping me company, Ser Jaime."

"It is I who should thank you for distracting me from my duties, Lady (Name)." For a split second he seems conflicted, as if he wants to add something else, but quickly masks it with a polite smile, "I should...Return to my post now."

"Yes, of course." You agree, "Goodbye, Ser Jaime."

"Goodbye, Lady (Name)."

 


	8. scars

 

~*~

_His hand engulfed yours shyly; as if afraid you would change your mind and pull away at a moment’s notice. You would never though and you tried your best to reassure Jon with a loving smile. Your room was tidy and quiet, only the harsh wind howled behind your glass window serving as a faint distraction. Jon was nervous. You were nervous. You felt your heart beat loudly in your chest, your own pulse echoing in your ears as you gazed into his deep warm irises unable to tear away from them. You could tell he was conflicted – was this really the right thing to do? Would your family approve of this?_

_No, of course they wouldn’t, you yourself knew that much. Your love was supposed to be kept secret for as long as you lived…or at least until you were brave enough to proclaim it to the masses. The Keylocks were an old bloodline after all, their name echoing through the whole of Seven Kingdoms. Being with a Snow would tarnish your image forever – to be fair you didn’t care as much as Jon did. He couldn’t drag you down._

_But he couldn’t leave you be either. Not anymore._

_He grew up with you: watched those innocent (color) eyes of a child grow into playful and almost sultry ones that he could never look away from. Looking at your face and examining your beautiful features as if seeing them up close for the first time he tried to recall when you stopped being his little sister and turned into the woman he would lay his head for. You were always wicked, he remembered, always chasing trouble with Theon as Robb chased after you trying to get you out of it. And Jon just observed from the side-lines, afraid to get too close – there was no place for a Snow if your sunny life. But you were the one who started tugging him along everywhere you went and he was more than glad you did. This was how you became friends. And this was how you fell in love._

_The wind behind your window howled softly as the two of you sat in complete silence just admiring each other – no words have been exchanged for the longest time but neither of you minded. It felt almost alien being this close and this at peace. It was as if your hearts beat at the same rhythm, your thoughts raced at the same pace and your souls moved in loving waltz only you and him could see. It felt like something was pulling him softly, making him forget all reason for just the faintest of moments as he leaned in. You didn’t pull away, your gaze half lit – the last thing you saw before closing your eyes was the glimmer of sunlight playing on his curly locks and the intensity of those deep brown eyes. He kissed you._

_And for once everything seemed to fall into place._

You stroll through the gardens, listening to the melody of chipping birds accompanied by the pleasant buzzing of bees and some gossiping servants hiding behind beautiful marble statues and blooming flowers. The curious eyes of guards follow after you as you pass leaving a trail of fruity perfume behind – their gazes bore into the deep scars on your back that shine bright as daylight. Your back is exposed, as always, you can’t bear to have even the lightest fabric touch or stick to it. The faint gushes of wind tickle the wounds and cause a dull ache, though it is nothing compared to the days before.

“ _Ah_ ,” A familiar, though not personally, voice rings from your left and tilting your head to the side you watch a man approach you. His hands folded neatly behind his back he casually waltzes to you, a smile brimming his features as his eyes try to catch your own – once they do, they lock, “Lady Keylock. I have finally caught you alone.” You give him a quick once over: short silver hair, a pointy beard, velvety voice. Lord Varys had warned you about him. Masking discontent with a sweet smile you bow your head only gently in fear of hurting yourself.

“Lord Baelish,” You greet, “beautiful morning, isn’t it?”            

“It is indeed. I usually find myself at the docks at this time – the smell of sea water in the morning is very refreshing. I am glad I decided to stay, though, and discuss some…business with my colleagues.” He smiles, not masking the playfulness in his voice and expression, “I have heard a lot about you, Lady Keylock. You could say I was dying to finally meet you.”

“And here we are.”

“And here we are…” He repeats, though more to himself than you, “I hope I am not interrupting you, Lady Keylock.”

“Nonsense.” You say, “Believe it or not, I do not have much to do these days.” His face falls.

“So I’ve heard…” He mumbles, “I am terribly sorry for what happened. It is a shame I was on a trip when it did, I would have gladly stepped in and stopped it from happening. No beautiful maiden such as yourself should kneel before them and be punished.”

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.” You say, lowering your gaze, “Your kind words mean a lot to me. But I must admit, despite all…of the pain and…humiliation,” you try to speak as naturally as you can, but the obvious cramp, the leak of spitefulness you accidentally expressed did not manage to slip him, “I do believe there is a silver-lining to this.” Petyr raises a brow.

“And what would that be, Milady?”

“People change.” You say simply, “And in Kings Landing they change ever so quickly.”

“It saddens me that you needed thirteen lashes to find this out.” He counters softly. You release a dry chuckle.

“Not all things come in life on a silver plate, I am afraid. But tell me, Lord Baelish, why are you really here? I am honored to be your morning conversationalist, but I figured you had more pressing matters than to converse with a handmaiden.”

“As I said, Lady Keylock.” He stops moving and so do you, “I was dying to finally meet you.” The way he finishes is a bit unnerving – that intense stare, a smirk that seems to know more than you can even imagine. He is fairly close; perhaps he shortened the distance as the two of you strolled down the brick path. His stance is relaxed, so are his features, but you know better – if Lord Varys had been telling the truth the man in front of you schemes at every moment he has and would use you the first change he gets. It is completely up to you if you want play along or not. Either way, he will not back down. You suddenly feel a bit claustrophobic; his form is completely dominating and you have to fight the urge to take a cautious step back. The best way to describe him would be ‘ a wolf in a sheep’s clothing’.

A sigh of relief escapes through your nostrils as someone calls your name and rushes to your side. Petyr loses interest in you, glancing at the servant as if she is a speck of mud on his shoes. His smile only widens though, and you have even more reason to doubt his intentions.

“Milord, Milady.” The servant bows, then turns to you, “Her Majesty the Queen wishes to see you, Milady.” Your face twists in confusion and sparing a questioning glance at Petyr Baelish  -  _was this his doing?_  – you find him just as curious.

“May I ask why?”

“Her Majesty the Queen did not say, Milady. Please, follow me.” At her words she bows again and offering a smile at Petyr you also bow your head softly.

“It was a pleasure, Lord Baelish.” You say, “I hope this was not the last time we had such a pleasant conversation.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Keylock.” Gently taking your hand he kisses it, giving you his best smile before adding, “Till next time, then.” You give a somewhat stiff nod, unsure of how to reply and pull your hand out of his grasp. You send one last look his way before following the servant inside.

Yes, he is definitely up to something.  _And probably nothing good._

~*~

The maroon colors are beautiful to the eye and pleasant to be around – if this wasn’t the Queens room you would have most likely been more at ease. Cersei did not pay much mind to you at first, even when you greeted her. All she did was wish you a good morning with fake kindness as she poured herself a crystal glass of wine and came to stare out the window in to the rising sun. She looks beautiful, from up close even more so: her golden hair glimmers in the light, as she sways a string of perfume follows after her. In silence you are left to wonder what you did to deserve a personal invitation from the Queen.

She suddenly turns to you, a smile brimming her lips as she takes a sip of wine that matches the color of her dress, “Please, take a seat.” She says, strolling to the table, “Wine?” She offers. You decline politely, sitting on a plush stool. Cersei pours you a glass anyway, taking a seat in front of you. Her piercing eyes find your own and lock them in place – now you know why the Lannister family crest is a lion. Her eyes remind you of one. “I have heard you made quite a few friends since coming here.” She speaks and you fail to catch any pleasant note in her voice. You mask the uneasy feeling swirling in your chest with a small innocent smile. Cersei licks her lips, waiting for an answer.

“Only a few, Your Grace.” You reply. She releases an amused huff.

“Namely my brother is what I’ve been told.” That sunny low voice chills in a blink of an eye as she sets her glass down. “He has told me quite a lot about you, Miss Keyl _o_ ck” She pops the  _o_  with her tongue. Her playfulness is gone and her face turns stern, almost clay like, “Need I remind you that you are a  _servant_  and he is knight?”

Malicious is what you would dub her if it wasn’t for that strange tingling sensation in your fingertips. You glance away, unable to hold her gaze and try to collect your racing thoughts. Your heart jumps unpleasantly in your chest, uneven, poor timed, like a broken clock. It’s loud. It rings in your ears and you are suddenly afraid that Cersei might hear it too. Finally, an epiphany, and with a soft inhale you pry your lips to speak, “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I do not see a problem with having a friend.” Going against her is a bad idea, and you realize that she will never favor you because of this. Cersei smiles and your heart tumbles – how could such a beautiful smile seem so cold? She takes her drink and swirls it in her hand. The silence starts to get suffocating and you try your best not to flinch as her eyes roam you up and down as if trying to remember every curve of your body in precise detail.

“Yes, yes you are right, my apologies.” She mumbles offhandedly. “I am very protective of my family and I just wanted to make sure that….nothing  _else_  is going on.”

You are quick to confirm, “I can assure you that there is not, Your Grace. Ser Jaime Lannister is but a dear friend, nothing more. I admire and respect your concern for your family. I would do and feel the same.” She says nothing – you do not expect her to either - only takes a stand, but her eyes never leave you. At first you think she is off to the window again, but her gentle shift in footing makes you realize she is merely circling you. She stops behind your back and you can feel her eyes burn deep into it. Your shoulders twitch uncomfortably. This whole situation seems just a bit too odd.

“You are very beautiful…” She murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “It is a shame you have such ugly scars.” Again that familiar and dreadful feeling of falling. You gulp and release a quiet breath of air as if a pleading note, staring straight ahead into the ravish ornaments of her room. You can hardly hear Cersei’s faint steps. Your ears pulse with blood that stews into your cheeks and dyes them red. “That is all…” She mumbles, back in vision, “Have a good day, Lady Keylock.” You nearly jump from your seat, eager to escape. Catching yourself in time you push a smile onto your lips and bow your head low, ignoring the tearing ache of your wounds.

“Your Grace…” Is all you say before opening the door and closing it shut behind you.

~*~

You spent the rest of your day observing Sansa’s new handmaiden and fixing her mistakes. Tense silence stretched between you three and you would be lying if you said that it did not hurt. On the contraire, it did hurt, perhaps even more than the lashes or the stings of your broken pride. You wished,  _truly_  wished, that all of this could be put behind you and never discussed again, but simply couldn’t. She didn’t dare to look you in the eyes, and you hardly tried to acknowledge her either. You acted within protocol, like an actress following her script or a lone paper ship that sails down the stream of water.

One thing is slightly amusing, though, and you squeeze out a small smile each time you think of it. On the same day you so proudly wrote to your family about how kind Sansa is, she ordered to whip you. Truly ironic. Perhaps by looking for these small moments of dry humor helps your mind heal.

You were a bit taken aback when he finds you – a bit disheveled at that, aloof yet friendly as ever. Your encounter with the Queen herself is still fresh in memory and you did your best to keep the distance between you and Jaime: not enough to cause suspicion, but enough that Cersei wouldn’t breathe down your neck. He insisted on walking you to the library, you had work there, but once you fell into step he was quiet. Thoughtful. He kept glancing at you as if preparing to say something but unsure of what words to use. Chuckling at his failed attempts, you look up at him with twinkling eyes and small smile.

“Well? Spill it out, Ser Jaime, you cannot keep me waiting forever. The library is only that far.” You point out. Jaime grins.

“You know me too well, Lady (Name).”

“You insisted it to be this way.”

“And I don’t mind it one bit.” There is a strange jump your heart makes. Almost like a butterfly being caught in a net. “I wanted…to tell you something, Lady Keylock.” He starts, “Well…To ask, more likely.”

“Go on.”

“Have you gone sightseeing yet?”

“Only a couple of times.” You reply, “I am only briefly familiar with Kings Landing. I never had the chance to explore” Softly, you motion your head back, “- _because_  of circumstances out of my control.”

“Would you like me to take you sometime?” He asks and you stop in your tracks. Blinking foolishly, you glance away and wish that this stone wall had a simple answer written on it. You cannot accept him, Cersei will not be pleased and to put yourself in even more danger than you already are is silly. You are no hero, no manipulator, not even a good liar. Yet when you finally turn to him, ready to speak in the most tender of words that imply your answer to be a firm ‘ _No’_ , your voice dies on the tip of your tongue. There is something different about him today. Perhaps in his appearance or perhaps in the way his eyes glimmer so beautifully, maybe the request itself being so genuine…  A sharp inhale. You smile.

“That would be lovely.” You say, “…If it’s not an inconvenience to you, Ser Jaime.”

…

…

…

Somewhere in the cold outskirts of The Wall Jon Snow halts awake from a hellish nightmare. Breathing heavily he stares into the darkness, the last moments of your beautiful face shinning in his memory before it all fades. He can’t recall what was so scary about the dream he had and quietly he falls back into the cool sheets. A fire is still burning in his room, painting his form and the stone walls with shadowy orange colors. Releasing a ragged breath he frowns. His heartache becomes almost unbearable.

What was so sad? What was so scary? Did he lose you, is that what it was? No. He doesn’t even want to think about it. It is good if he did. He is a bastard. You are from a good bloodline. He is so glad he hasn’t had any letters from you yet…

…And at the same time it kills him on the inside.

 


	9. thick blood

A new dawn rose each time just a bit quicker and finally you find yourself stepping out of the cool walls of the Red Keep and into the humid summer air of King’s Landing. The way down is a stretch, though accompanied by the beautiful view you hardly notice the distance and get down fairly quick. Letting go of the hems of your silky dress you continue to let your mind wander as far as the eye can see, which isn’t very far since your vision was blocked by a parade of guards. One is staring shamelessly at you, and gulping you guide your eyes down and quickly walk past the heavy gate.

Your gold jewelry is starting to heat from the sun. A smile brims your features once you see Jaime Lannister leisurely waiting for someone – that someone being you, of course – his expression thoughtful as he gazes at nothing in particular. He hasn’t seen you yet and you are about to greet him enthusiastically when something stops you. You recoil. Cersei’s voice ring in your ears, those lion like eyes poisoning your mind and almost making you turn back. This…most likely isn’t the best idea and you knew this before even leaving your room. If she found out she would certainly not be happy…But then again, it is only a friendly tour. As if sensing distress Jaime tilts his head in your direction, a smile appearing on his face once he notices you.

“Lady (Name)!” He greets, “I’m glad you did not change your mind.”

“It was a tough choice.” You admit, finding it almost funny how true it is. You catch up to him and the two of you start strolling through the city: from the ever luxurious homes, pubs filled with day drinkers to the maze of streets that confuse you to no end. You go as far as the rich neighborhoods went, saving the slums for another time. Or never. Jaime told they aren’t entirely safe, especially for a lady like you. You only smiled, trying to appear unaffected – to tell the truth you aren’t entirely safe anywhere.

As you start to make your way back a pleasant silence engulfs the two of you. Your eyes jump from place to place, trying to map the city and save it in your memory, whilst the older man’s stay fixed on you. If you were paying attention you would’ve noticed the admiration in his ice blue irises, a knowing look passing his features before it is abruptly washed away by something that resembled shame. Shame for what? Perhaps of his own foolish actions? His mission to befriend you started out as a simple day quest when he was bored, but turned into something that his mind would wander when he was on duty. He couldn’t simply ignore your presence as easily as he wished: even that night, at your first feast in Kings Landing, he couldn’t help but call your name in hopes of catching your attention – you looked so lovely that night that he couldn’t help himself – but there were too many people to pin point him in the crowd and even if you did hear him you didn’t stick around. And even now you look beautiful – your thick hair tamed into tight braids, your (color) skin oily from the heat and those magnificent eyes that sparkle like morning water by the docks. Not to mention that dress fits you most perfectly. How can one take his eyes of you?  _Impossible_ , he conducts.

And he must admit that you are no fool either, no mere woman he could woo easy and get away with it just as easy. A kind soul, broken from the humiliation enforced by your mistress, yet he is almost certain that you would bite back if pushed hard enough. He does not want to be the one to push you, though. To tell the upmost truth he does not want to hurt you at all. What you have endured is merely a snippet of the wrath that people from King’s Landing have grown accustomed too, even come to enjoy it. It is plain as day that you are not from around here. No need to eye you for as long as he is to know – you have a northerner face, a northerner stance, even a northerner way of speaking… He wonders, suddenly, is there someone from those cold lands you spring from that you fancy. Or perhaps the real question he want to ask but keeps shying away from, is do you fancy him? His mind conjures and image of Cersei as if a warning that his further thoughts and questions should be cut short.

He might put you into danger. No,  _no_ , not ‘might’…  _Will_.  Again, he watches you look around with a wistful expression. Cersei  _will_  make your life a living hell if he continues to hang around you…He cannot bring you into this. This isn’t your game to play, most certainly not to win.

And so he has come to the conclusion that this will be the last time the two of you will spend together, alone in the masses of people. Bitterness picks at his throat and he releases a somewhat amused huff – is the idea of leaving you really that disappointing? He’s even a bit startled.

“You are especially quiet today, Ser Jaime.” You say playfully.

“I thought I was doing you a favor,” He counters without missing a beat, “I am distracting enough as it is. If I kept talking you wouldn’t have remembered a thing.” You raise an unimpressed brow, “Take a good look at every corner, especially those you shouldn’t wander in…People here aren’t the kindest.” Your expression does not change, “You wouldn’t attack an innocent maiden now, would you?” He inquires. You pretend to think.

“I might.” You state, “If she dares to harm my friends.”

“That is hard to believe, Lady (Name).I for one don’t think you could harm anyone.”

“Do you want me to prove you wrong?”

“I would be delighted.”

“If you teach me a few tricks with the sword, you have my word.”

Leaving you be will prove to be more of a challenge than he ever imagined.

~*~

The scent of fruits tickles your nose as you take a small sip of your hot tea, savoring the flavor as your eyes glaze over with daze and you stare into the batch of flowers by your side. Varys on the other end of the table watches you with interest, though refrains from commenting. He notices your mind wandering, but to where he can only guess. He hasn’t touched his drink yet, instead his hands are nearly tucked away as they always are. The setting sun dyes your form with alluring colors. There it is, he notes, that glow that attracts all like a spell. He has seen it before, but only once. He remembers it clear as day, that one trait that stood out above all else. It is enchanting almost.  _Innocence_  is what he would describe it if someone asked him to put it to words. But to whom belonged such magic? He cannot recall. Perhaps that is the very reason he decided to make an alliance with you – being engaged to Robb Stark also plays a major factor in his plans, but you being a strange test subject of his takes the leading role. He knows there is more to you and his little birds whisper of secrets he is sure not even you know.

 _A test subject_. It is impolite to label people that, but nobles never cry when they are dubbed as ‘The wrathful’ and such, and you should not cause trouble either. He does not wish to perform some sort of strange ritual or harm you in any way, though the second part may be entirely unavoidable. What  _does_  he want? You have so much potential to become something great. Out of innocence blooms the most devious of flowers with the harshest thorns and he would be delighted to see that happen, even more to  _make_  it happen. No sudden changes, merely a gentle tap in the right direction when needed.

His train of thought is interrupted when he meets your eyes – alert and curious – and you set down the cup. “Pardon me, Lord Varys, is…is something the matter?”

“Not at all,” He replies with a friendly smile, “I was just wondering…and I hope you do not take this the wrong way, but may I ask you a…somewhat personal question?” Your face falls and you nod, intently listening to what he has to say, “You, my dear, are a Keylock. Why on Earth are you a handmaiden?” You smile sheepishly at his question.

“You are not the first person to ask me this, Lord Varys.” You say, “The Keylocks are a merchant bloodline. My family is…on the lower end, of course. Cannot compare to what our uncle has in Highgarden.”

“Lord Henrik Keylock?”

“So you’ve heard of him…”

“He is a great man.”

“And that raises the question: to be a good man, or to be a great one?” You ponder. He hears the slight chill in your voice,  “Our family is not great. But we are good people.  _Humble_. And for that, I am a handmaiden.”

“But your bloodline doesn’t end within Westeros.” The flash of confusion on your face is almost enchanting and Varys has to hold in a knowing smug grin that tickles the corners of his lips. He leans in just a bit, “Lady (Name), you look surprised. Were you not aware?”

“There are…Keylocks in Essos?” You question, knowing it is silly – if Varys asked, it meant he already knows. The small smile only confirms your suspicions. “Is it…important?”

“Finally asking the right questions, Lady (Name).” He says pleased, “My little birds have told me about Keylocks in Pentos. Powerful men, very dangerous…” He leans out, “Merchants that could possibly pay the Crowns debts if they were to spare some of their gold.” You blink, “See…That is why I asked, my dearest (Name). How come a bloodline so old and powerful end up owning one inn in Winterfell?”

“What are you implying, Lord Varys?” You ask coolly. The eunuch shrugs.

“I’m only urging you to pay better attention to your surroundings. With  _best_  intentions, of course.”

 

…You couldn’t lay rest all evening, those sly words ringing in your ears like a mantra. So what if you didn’t know of these powerful people all the way in Essos? What does that change? Nothing,  _nothing_  at all! So what if you were from the lower end of the bloodline? So what if you haven’t seen as much gold as your uncle gets on a good day? So what--!

But shouldn’t you know these things? You always prided yourself with being a Keylock, and you could clearly recall your father’s tales of war and loss and the great blood that ran in your veins… Enough gold to pay the Crowns debts?! Who are these people?! Do they really reside in your family tree?...

Slowly, you sit up and leave your room with a lit candle in your hand. Sleep is the last thing on your mind. If Varys so actively presented you with new information it has to mean something big. He is not a man that speaks for the sake of speaking. There has to be more.

A memory flashes so vivid you can almost see it, feel it, breathe the same air as it, “ _I've only been there once”_. Kings Landing…Where did aunt Relina stay? A whorehouse is the most likely answer, but which one? There are more than a dozen in this city, or so you assume. Riddled with conflict you pace the quiet corridors. The cool night’s air caresses your skin. An unruly chill tickles the back of your neck. Stopping by a window you set the candle on the windowsill, gazing into the distance and watching the far away dancing lights.

_“Go where the sun never stops shining."_

_.._

_.._

_Essos?_


	10. family.

**more information about the readers family:[HERE](http://delicrieux.tumblr.com/post/156227621723/any-background-info-on-house-keylock)**

 

 

The taverns door pushes open and slides from the harsh wind, croaking and drawing in a few drunken gazes to the entrance, though the chatter doesn’t stop. A storm brews in the dead of the night, oil lamps providing a small heap of comfort and light whilst the cracking fireplace pools the big room with heat. Snow tangles into messy dark brown locks as piercing (colour) eyes scan the few people that drink by their tables. Pale blotchy skin dyed red from the fumes and dewed with sweat, untamed brows knitting together in worry. Relina presses her coat closer to her body and kicks the door shut with her leg before moving across the stone flooring to the bar where Dolores, your mother, tiredly wipes the counter and entertains a few guests with witty banter. Relina’s face is missing its usual inviting flirtatious grin. She sits on a stool, confined by conflicting emotions and the heavy fur that hides away all of her soft skin. Once Dolores notices her, the smile she wore wilts and her back straightens in an instant. Distain, one that glimmers in her warm eyes, shines brighter than any candle as with much discomfort she approaches Lionel’s sister.

“I thought we had discussed this, Relina.” She says quiet and harsh, “You are not welcomed here when my husband is not near. Leave. It is bad enough I see you every day in the market…”

“Have you heard?” The older woman cuts in, as if everything Dolores spoke of had fallen on deaf ears, “Do you know?”

“Know of what?”

“What happened in King’s Landing. Do you know? Did Lionel tell you?” Her speech is not distorted by a cheap accent as she speaks in fluent tongue that fitting of a great family.

“Of what, Relina? You speak in circles.”

Relina falters, leaning away as if still shaken from what she knows, “Thirteen lashes…” She finally rasps, disbelieve riddling her voice, “Thirteen lashes, Dolores. Did Lionel tell you?”

~*~

The dark circles around your eyes are evidence of lack of sleep, your posture stiffer than usual as your irises keep glancing from side to side. You spent the whole night mulling over those cryptic words of your aunt, the ever clever and dangerous spouting of Lord Varys, completely overlooking the slowly brewing chaos around you. You left your room at first sunlight, bolting down the corridors as the sun was only peeking out the window. Ser Jaime would freak if he knew just where you were heading…but then again, he wasn’t there to know or to stop you.

You inhale hot fumes scented with lavender and other magnificent spices that enchant at cause a morning daze. You stand with your hands intertwined, eyes boring out the big open windows that seep with heat, even this early. Moans from different parts of the house, some even a few feet away from you on a lavish couch you try your best not to look at, echo like music and after a while of waiting you manage to drone them out and replace them with faint whispers coming from outside and chirping of small birds. The decorations and various colors are pleasant to ogle at, the attention to details in paintings of women are beautiful though shameful. Again you stand waiting, rehearsing what you will say, how you will act and what reaction should you expect. In your mind plays bits and pieces of the puzzle you are only yet discovering, a pang of excitement and cracking nerves shaking your bones and you shiver as a bashful smile pinches your rosy cheeks.

A soft call of your name makes you blink and turn back, only to be greeted by a woman who stands wrapped in a see-through silk robe, “Lady Stone, was it?” You nod, for a brief second forgetting you gave a fake name. The woman, beautiful, though nameless, smiles “Lord Baelish may see you now. Please, follow me, and if there is  _anything_ … _else_ , you’d wish to partake, be our gu—“

“Let us not get side tracked.” You cut in, “If you may?”

“Of course, Milady.”

You are led through the brothel to a makeshift office that is scented with tea and an unruly amount of perfume. Here you find Petyr Baelish himself, seated by a desk and glancing over some writings before his gaze falls on you. A smile, one he wore when you first met and inspired uncertainty in your heart, shines over his face as he slowly rises to his feet, “Lady… _Stone_. What a pleasant surprise. Please, have a seat.” He waves off the escort and she leaves with one last glance sent your way. The door shuts behind you and you feel more on edge than you were idling by couples mindlessly screwing. His room is airy, though it seems as if his presence takes all of the remaining space and leaves you gasping for air. You take a seat on a chic couch by his desk, your back softly grazing an edge of a golden threaded pillow. Lord Baelish does not once pull his eyes away from you, “And what do I owe the pleasure for this…humble visit?”

“Is curiosity a sufficient motive?”

“It is my firm belief that only it – is.” He replies with an amused huff.

“Lord Baelish…” You start off slowly, “If I were to tell you I hold a secret would you tell it?”

“Now now, Miss Keylock, why would I do that?”

“A simple ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ would have been enough of an answer.” You say, suddenly coming to stand, “Forgive me if I am being impolite, it is just that I…” Your gaze goes from him to the window and you stare out. A touch of dramatism never hurt anyone. “I have been up all night, my thoughts were…unruly.” You then look at him, “And I believe you are the only one who can help me, Lord Baelish.”

He is careful with his approach, fixing a mask of sympathy as his eyes strike with a sense of loyalty and just a shimmer of urgency, curiosity and ill intent. Petyr’s smile falls into a small, though slick, one as he closes the distance between you two, his hands hooking behind his back as if to assure you he will not touch you to prove his point. Not now, at least. “And what would that be, Miss Keylock?” His gaze is fixed on yours.

“Does the name Relina Lock ring a bell?” His brows knit in confusion. He does not anticipate such a question. At that very second you search his face and examine the raw emotion, peering through him and into the very mechanisms of his mind. You hold in your breath and search for a lie, or a truth, and what you find is neither. The name does not say much to him, and once he says so all you do is smile and nod. He is a master liar, you tell yourself, but perhaps now is the one time he holds no lie. Though now that the seed is planted, the only thing it will do is grow. And if you figured anything, is that Petyr Baelish will go out of his way to find out everything he needs to use against others for either his own selfish desires or entertainment, rarely a political cause. You bob your head again, turning away from him.

“Forgive me for the disturbance, then—“

“But may I ask why does this woman interest you?”

“You may ask all you wish…Though that does not mean I am inclined to answer.” You say with coy smile. Even if Lord Baelish is impressed, he does not show it, “If you learn of anything…Anything at all, please let me know. It is very important.”

“It is strange that you would come to me for such a matter, Lady Keylock. That is not to say I will not help you, but it is simply a bit odd… We have only just met, after all. Trusting me with such—“

“I do not trust you with anything, Lord Baelish. I merely asked if you knew of the name.” You counter, “But if you would like let me propose a deal. If you can show me all of her cards I will show you mine.” A pause. Silence. You wait for his answer with baited breath.

“And what makes you, Lady Keylock, think I am interested?”

“If I know anything about you, Lord Baelish, is that you cannot resist a mystery…Knowledge is power, is it not?”

“…You are a very clever girl, Lady Keylock.”

“I suppose we have an agreement.”

“That very much we do.”

 

~*~

 

_The luminescent glow on their red petals is almost enticing, absolutely beautiful. The bright sun peeks from the glass rooftop and dyes the garden in low red and yellow colours, playing on petals and leafs and small rocks resting in patches of dirt and behind some grassy areas. The heat rises, only a small breeze remains from the open doors as pinches of snow can be seen laying outside. The Glass Gardens are quiet, though it’s that pleasant comforting silence that makes the heart grow warm._

_Robb Stark smiles and glances down briefly before he lifts his eyes up to catch a glimpse of a blooming tree with bright red flowers shaken by the breeze and letting go  of one of its petals that in a beeline falls to the ground. Behind him he can hear breaths, echoes of peoples voices that he knows are there but cannot see. He turns his head and his heart jumps; a smile, bright and lovely spreads on his lips as he examines every beautiful feature of your face. You stand beside him, the longs locks of your hair swirled into ornate curls; the rosy colour of your cheeks reflects in the flower light; eyes, a sharp (colour), stare off somewhere far off in thought; some seemingly heavy gold jewelry rests around your neck, a peek of your exposed shoulders lets his eyes drop to examine the fabric of your dress. Your wedding dress. Your gazes meet and you grin cutely and he can feel your fingers wrap around his. He is happy. Happier than any man in the whole wide world._

That was what Robb Stark saw as he carefully examined the sent letter, in which you agree to his proposal.

 

~*~

The scruffy air of the library makes your nose itch and for the briefest of moments you pull away from old scrolls and throw an alert glance to the entrance – whilst you are sitting quite a ways from it, you can see it clearly. Making sure not a soul is present you push away work and pull closer an old leather book with golden printed letters. A genealogical tree. The tomb is heavy and you nearly tore your arms off trying to lift it, its pages old and worn down, emitting a molding stench once you scroll to the first page. The handwriting is not hard to read thanks to your immense handmaiden studies. It is careful, crafted to perfection in velvety red ink. A couple of ungraceful dots of it are spilled on some pages as you flip through the book.

Finally. The history of your family.

The sun is way up and raining down at you in harsh beams that burn your skin through the window and make your body hot in the loose silk dress. You shift in your seat, eyes transfixed on the ‘ _Keylock’_  name on the top of the page. Only old powerful families are recorded in such books.

Your eyes fall into a quickly scribbled picture of a man with curly hair. Martyl Keylock, the first ever from this long bloodline originating from Honeyholt, Highgarden.  _But that cannot be right_ , you ponder, flipping a few pages past the family tree and onto the history behind the person. You gulp. Some lines are faded.

_Martyl, last name unknown, was born into a poor family and raised in Honeyholt, Highgarden. At his youth… …. ….  
…. …. ….. At the age of twenty three his passion for moulding metals had landed him a job as a merchant in selling keys with ornate carvings. …. …. …. …. …. Meryl’s creations landed him success and in turn he created the name ‘Keylock’ as a way to distinguish himself from his family… … … … After….years….he married a young girl Anabeth and had a total of six children, starting off one of the most successful merchant bloodlines in the history of Westeros. Whilst his remains lie in an unidentified location, his wife is forever resting in Honeyholdt, where she died after giving birth._

There was little said about Anabeth, only her picture, scribbled hurriedly, is printed next to a brief explanation. Back tracking to the family tree, you noted a thin red line coming from Martyl to his wife, the tree branching for the first time into six more pieces, that go on and on and on until you finally catch a glimpse of your father’s name along with two others: Henrik and Relina. You blink. Your aunt’s image is burned out. Flipping those yellow pages again, you have to scroll ways down to find any of your close family. While your uncle has a whole page written about his achievements, your father has very little and Relina has none at all.

_Lionel Keylock. Fought in the Rebellion alongside Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon._

That is all it said about your father. Flipping back to the family tree you see his line connect with Dolores, your mother, and branch into two new lines: (Name) and Lillian. You smile faintly, the pad of your finger caressing the inked words of your sister’s name. You miss her dearly.

Unease set in your heart; behind the window the sun is clouded by grey clouds in promise of rain. There is no record here of anyone originating from Essos. Perhaps it is mentioned in your other relatives’ biographies? You read each and every one, this task taking a few hours out of your day, but not once was Essos even mentioned. Perhaps it only has to do something with Relina? Your eyes bore into the burned out inked picture of our aunt. Lord Varys would not mention Essos without a valid reason, granted you ponder whether he would even spare such information if it somehow is not extremely important, or leads to something important. In growing anxiousness your fingers twitch and you shut the book. In a harsh breeze the stench of dry papers shoot through your nose and make you scowl. You stand up, the cool marble chilling your feet even through the layer of shoes. Once again, you pick up the heavy book, feeling you muscles stretch and tense and cry as with a low huff you lift it and turn on your heel, eyeing the rows of bookshelves before you find the correct one. With a hesitant step you start moving towards it. Your ears catch the shy hiss of rain hitting the glass window.

Something is definitely not what it seems, you conduct. And you have to find out what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the long wait and no romance! it will be featured in the next chapter, which will hopefully be out soon ( i am already working on it!!!!!!!!!!!!!)  
> thank you everyone for the comments and such...i didn't even think people were still reading this haha! really motivated me to finish this, although short, chapter.  
> stay tuned! xx


	11. swords and caves

Ways below. In the security of hills and thorny rose bushes that bloom a blood red once the sun peeks out the horizon to shine over Kings Landing. A few ruins lay untouched by human hands for decades, perhaps forgotten, or perhaps too fragile – they cast a longing shadow over broken steps and cracked stone ground that’s touched by sand. The platform stands a few rocks above a canal where the rivers meet the sea; the humidity, dry leafs and salt water scents mix into something oddly refreshing, though dizzying.

You see only but his figure in front of you – the clear blue sky reflects the rays brighter and makes your head hurt. The scratchy cloth that hugs your thighs and chest makes you squirm. Being out of your now usual soft dresses is strange, perhaps even uncomfortable, but you surpass this displeasure with a timid smile before you look down to eye the interesting object in your grasp. You are met with your reflection, one that is prolonged and distorted. The light reflects on the blade and blinds you for a second and so you glance upwards, catching Jaime’s smug grin.

“Well now, don’t tell me you’re intimidated by that” He points, “fragile thing.” You tick an eyebrow.

“I’d say you are the one who is intimidated, Ser Jaime.”

“I will be if you show me you can actually wield it.”

“Don’t get cocky now. I may surprise you.”

Jaime lets an amused smile slip on his lips before he gestures with his hand for you, “The floor is yours.” He side steps and eagerly watches you just as smug as he was before this brief conversation. Your lips thin into a line and for a moment you stand frozen, unsure of what to do. You had wielded a thread and needle, a quill, and yes, a wooden sword a couple of times (one you stole from Robb when you were playing knights and thieves that many years ago),  but never have you ever performed with an actual metal blade with sharp edges and a pointy end. You stare at your reflection, feeling your cheeks heat. “Right.” His voice startles you – the gleeful note in it makes you frown and you glare at him, “Perhaps a bit of guidance is needed…” He moves. Your eyes follow him in curiosity, “First. Posture.” He circles behind you, “You hold with your right? Then left foot out, it gives balance.” You do as he says, tilting your head softly to the side to see but a smidge of him. “Shoulders back… turn just a bit to the…--no wait…” his hands land on your waist – the sensation shoots tingles up your spine. He gently turns you, his fingers barely grazing the surface of your clothes, “Arm just a bit up…” Though one hand stays, the other takes your forearm and guides it upwards, making sure it did not go out of line- it then slides down your arm and hooks around your wrist. He flicks it. You intake a sharp breath. The blade points directly at a nearby column ready to attack. He does not pull away at first, his big hands linger at your sides and make you hotter than before.

“Right.” He is quite enjoying this, you can tell, “Then you just swing.” You hear the smile in his voice, “Care to give it a go now?”

_~*~_

_It was hot then, perhaps the hottest day in a long while in Winterfell. Though there was no snow lying around, there still lingered a crisp shrill of the northern wind that made your hairs stand on end. You decided against wearing heavy robes, picking out your favourite summer dress – it was still patted with cotton on the inside though. You sat on a patch of grass in the Godswood, far away from prying eyes. You had found a cave – one where friendly rabbits hid when they spotted you and you had followed – and incidentally sat near the very entrance, afraid to venture deeper yet curious enough to stick around. The sound of approaching footsteps alerted you and you snapped your head back, in the distance noting a familiar figure. Jon. What was he doing here? was the first question to pop into your head, though soon you realized he had been looking for you – the relieved gleam in his eyes betrayed as much._

_You greeted him with a smile, feeling excitement spur in your chest and quickly you got on your feet and dusted off your dress. “I did not expect a visitor!” You said walking, “How did you find me?”_

_“I know only of three places where you’d be this time of day – the Glass Gardens or with Septa Mordane.” Jon replied, “You were in neither. So I figured you’d be somewhere around here.” His eyes wandered behind you, carefully eyeing the deep black mist that oozed from the cave – no light reached into it, creating a sort of unease. He then glanced back at you, “Were you going in?” You shook your head._

_“No, not yet…” you stepped closer, “Is there…a reason you were searching for me?”_

_He looked lost for the briefest of moments – perhaps he didn’t plan as far ahead as to know the actual reason he sought after you. Jon Snow was never a good liar, and you couldn’t help but grin at his blank face as he quickly tried to think of a sufficient answer. You shook your head, “Well, never mind…” You eased him, accidently or not brushing your fingers over his hand; you then tilted your head to the side to eye the curious cave in thought, “I saw a rabbit jump in and get lost. But…I’m not sure why I stuck around myself. See I have never really ventured into a cave before. Old houses and locked rooms – yes – but nothing created by nature.” You looked back at him, “I suppose I’m just curious.”_

_Your intent was obvious. But whether Jon Snow caught on immediately, or it was his mind that conjured the brilliant idea of suggesting to go – you happily agreed with a quick nod and grasped a hold of his hand, leading him closer to the dark entrance. The spiked grass crunched and tickled the sides of your leg, a couple of tree roots poking out and so you had to take cautious steps. Somewhere down these careful steps his fingers intertwined with yours and neither of you said a thing. Blocked by tall dark tress the sun hid behind a batch of leafs. The caves entrance was big, though you needed to hunch if you were to go in. You turned to him as if to make sure he was serious about this, and whilst you sensed the doubts he was having, he did not object and you did not press the matter any further. Instead, you asked, “Do you have a light?” He shook his head in a ‘no’ and was about to suggest turning back, but you were having none of it. With immense determination your hand was freed from his and grabbing the edges of your dress you took a brash step forward into darkness—_

_And released a terrified high pitched scream that made the birds croak and fly away. What a sudden drop! With a face full of mud and a pounding headache you groaned and sat on your knees – though your leg was hurting, it was not injured._

_“(Name)! Are you oka—“_

_“Careful now! It’s quite a drop!”_

_Your voice bounced off the walls and spiralled deeper. At first blind, now as you finished rubbing the dirt away from your stinging eyes you got a good look around – though it was dark and cold here, in the distance you noted a pale blue light, but it was so far away you wondered were your eyes simply playing tricks on you. Your skin cooled, the shock wore off and you felt strangely at ease. “Come down here!” Your voice carried a tint of wonder and you slowly stood up. Jon was soon by your side, skidding down masterfully compared to you. Light sunshine played on his features from the far away entrance – it was only a couple of meters up. Complete silence engulfed the two of you when the rocks stopped rattling. And so you ventured deeper. The scent of moist dirt and the lulling sound of running water made your head spin. Or perhaps it was simply the head injury and the intense darkness you so foolishly jumped into._

_Your gasp echoed in the airy pocket of space underground. The radiant blue light was coming from here! You marvelled at the still pools of clear blue water, just a meter below you, the sparkling rocks that reflected the strange glow and the colourful stones that uselessly loitered around. Jon jumped down first with a low huff, extending his hand for you and you gladly took it. Still holding onto the hems of your dress you leaped down and surpassed a yelp when your bones rattled. Failing to catch your footing you lost balance but he skilfully caught you. Warmth spread across your frosted skin like fire. Standing so close to him you could finally see him clearly – the strange blue glow made him look ghostly, though still friendly, and those big beautiful eyes made your heart swell. You could easily count the specs of dirt on his cheeks. Perhaps you even did. You smiled. Unsure, Jon released a timid smile as well. The tension rose. As a frail attempt to get rid of it you pried your eyes away from his, much to his disappointment, and opted to look around, “What is this place?” You asked quiet, as if afraid to disturb the peace._

_Jon followed your gaze, then glancing upwards to where the running water seemed to spring from, ”I’m not expert, but…I’d say we’re just below the pond.”_

That’s the clearest image of him forever engraved in your mind. Ghostly from bleak lights, warm as the summer day and those deep eyes that betrayed the first pinches of love. You smile and trail your gaze down the impressive view of Kings Landing to the stack of gold inked papers in your grasp. What had reminded you of that carefree memory? Was it the humid air, so familiar with that day? Or were it the bruises hugging your body, similar to the ones you got once you finally left that blasted cave? Did you already know you loved him, that summer day? Or were you just as oblivious to it as he was?

The silly daydream ends by a hurried batch of heavy footfalls that make you blink and turn curiously to the side and you step closer to the big windows as to not get in the way of the guards. They all grunt past you and the only coherent word you manage to catch is ‘ _Stark’_. You frown. Worry spikes in your chest and pools in your abdomen. What has happened now?

“Lord Stark has been wounded in battle!” Down the hallway you hear harsh whispers and your fingers numb – the stack of papers falls from your hands and you take in a sharp breath. The scars on your back hiss at you for moving so quick and sudden, but you ignore the looming pain and with a hard look on your face stride to the two girls leering over the window.

“What happened?” You cut all small talk. The two of them falter and share a look.

“Lord Eddard Stark, Milady…” One pipes up, somber, “He…he…Was attacked. By Lannister men.” She finishes quiet and with a tint of fear. Before you can ask anything else more people pile in, both guards and nobles and servants all gossiping. News travels fast, you realize, grasping the edges of your dress and moving to pester someone else for details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're reaching the end of season 1!!! next chapter will most likely be the finale of season 1 tbh...also, i think i'll re-market the story and change the premise a bit. i think all GOT seasons should be here, not just the two...what do ya'll think????? also! should i make it more gay? i have some ideas. main love interest is jon ofc but you ain't gonna see him for a while js  
>  thank you for all the love and kudos xx <3


	12. cornered.

_The Cave is moist and quiet, only Jon’s and your breath echoes in the shadowy corners of the small pocket of space. The water glides through your fingers – warm, hotter the deeper your hand ventures. Ripples grace the surface and the cold bites your hand once you retract it and look over your shoulder – Jon stands by the entrance, nervous and closely watching the footprints your shoes made and the specs of sand on the hems of your dress. You smile, trying to catch his attention but it is as if he is ignoring you on purpose. You glance down at the drops of water on your hand and hum, the smile never leaving your face. A devilish spark lights your eyes, one he can’t see and perhaps one that is masked by the tranquil blue hue that reflects from the water and slippery surfaces._

_You stand up, “The others are not expecting us for a while.” Your voice carries a playful tone, one that confuses him and he snaps to you, blinking almost like a lost pup and trying to figure out your intentions. He follows the more and more apparent smirk on your lips as slowly you raise your hands to untie the strings of your shirt. Jon raises a brow. You raises a challenging one back and only now did he notice the magnificent glimmer in your eyes, “I say we make the most of it…” you trail off, your eyes drifting to the side, “Wouldn’t you agree…?” you leave the question handing in the air as you pull the shirt from underneath your skirt. Jon’s eyes widen and he is about to protest, “You can look if you want.” You murmur, catching his gaze, “I would…prefer if you did.” He gulps. You try your best to hold the silly grin threatening to spread across your face. Your heart quickens it’s pace once you slowly lift your shirt: the muscles of your stomach tense from the slight chill and excitement. You could feel his eyes eating every inch and curve of your body as you throw the soft fabric over your head and to the side.  A wild blush heats your cheeks suddenly and feeling a bit self-conscious you avoid his eyes –not like he was actively searching for yours either. With a sharp inhale you quickly push the skirt down, turning your back to him as you take off any last remaining pieces of fabric. The cold blue light dances across your bare skin. You take a shy step forward into the water, letting your foot sink in and the warmth seep through. You tilt your head ever so slight – so he could only see the curve of your nose and lips and the edge of your eye, “Join me…if you want.” Is all you say before diving deeper._

“You- _You—You_ …” Your words loose the threatening and sharp tone, dull, fill with hurt and you take in a quick breath; your shoulders slump and your gaze wanders downwards to your feet, as if you can’t bear to look at him for any longer. Jaime Lannister stands speechless, perhaps just as shocked as you are by your outburst, unlikely as in pain as you seem to be. Your whole body quivers and you feel bitterness claw on your throat. He stands there, right across the room with his armor sparkling in the daylight. Finally, the beat of your heart slows and you lock any overpowering emotions that make you brash. You straighten your back, lift your head and look him dead in the eye, “ _You traitor_.”

Now that stings. More than he is willing to admit but the look in his eyes betray him and you notice. The room is hot, stuffy, there isn’t enough air for the two of you, it’s too heavy, the walls seem like they will cave in at any given moment. That is why he comes to you; crosses the large distance between your two bodies unnaturally fast as if it is his first instinct. His hand reaches for your face but you smack it away harshly, “ _Don’t_ touch me.” From this close he can see the angry lines knitting your brows, how intently your eyes shine with secret tears that you refuse to let free. And again that fit of rage passes and you recoil, “ _Why_ …why did you do it? Why did you… _Lord Stark_ , _why_ would you attack him—in broad daylight, _why_ …?” the sickly pale skin of your face dyes in red blotches and those tears threaten to escape again. Jaime can’t keep up. His mind has stopped all major functions, he is completely defeated, and he can’t even utter a word in protest or even answer your question. The rawness of your voice unnerves him; it shakes him so much that he does not even want to justify his actions. He is not worthy of your forgiveness, but to see you _so_ …Is too much. All too much. He tries to catch your gaze and convey everything he’s feeling through it, but you refuse to look. “ _I_ … _trusted_ you.” Your words fall into a whisper, one that crawls up his neck, “I… _I_ thought…You said that--… _that_ you don’t condone such acts of violence, that you would never hurt me t _ha_ t---… _why_? Why did you do it?”

Suddenly words flow back to him, a sense of determination and he hardly thinks before he speaks, “He _took_ my brother.”

“So are you going to _take_ his head next?” You ask just as harsh. You note his jaw clench. “I _really_ … _truly_ believed that you are different…” Your voice falls again, softens so that it sounds smooth and somber, melancholic in away and you gaze out the window into the cloudless blue sky and the sun shining happily in it. Your distorted imagine reflects in his armor. “That what servants whispered amongst themselves was untrue… _I suppose I was wrong.”_ You look him in the eye, “You really _are_ deserving of such names. Oath Breaker. Kingslayer...But I believe _Man Without Honor_ suits you the most.”

|*|

The castle is quiet, eerily so, long shadows dance in the hallways as the guards stay in their posts without uttering a single word. The night is warm, the orange light of torches makes it even warmer and so only a light dress is needed, anything heavier would be too confining and possibly too hot. You eye the heavy wooden door for a long while, longer than any normal person would and longer than needed. Finally, you knock on it; the sound goes right through your ears and your knuckles sting lightly. A tired ‘ _Come in_ ’ reaches you from the other side and with a relieved sign your fingers hook around the cold handle and pull, the door jerks open and you step inside.

Lord Stark’s office is drowned in candle light, there are more books and papers littering his desk than yours and you note the pin of the King’s Hand glimmer on his robe. He looks exhausted, drained, there are heavy bags under his eyes and while you do fear for his health you cannot help but let a ghost of a smile slip on your lips. You are relieved that he is okay, beyond everything that has happened. Your Father holds Eddard Stark in the highest remark…And in turn, so do you.

He motions for you to sit and you do, but on the edge, afraid to let your back touch the wooden surface. The air is tinted with wax and dry ink. Lord Stark slowly pushes the book he was reading close and turns his full attention to you, “Forgive me for calling for you on such short notice.”

You shake your head, “Nonsense, Milord. We handmaiden’s rarely go to sleep early.”

He nods, though how important this chatter is you can only guess.  “I wanted to speak with you…Consult you on some matters.” Your eyes immediately narrow down at his table, as if you could see his injured knee right through it. “Not about this, though…” His hand taps his leg. He stops. The air falls still, “How are you, (Name)?”

“Pardon?” You blink.

“How are you here, in Kings Landing?” He repeats, “Are you…enjoying your stay?” You are unsure of how to reply to that. The answer is almost obvious from how stiff you sit, how constructed and formal your speech is. _No_ is the correct answer of course. Besides the beautiful scenery the capital has little to offer in turns of good people and friends…

 _Friends_. How naïve of you to think you had any.

“Where are…you getting at, Milord?”

He pushes his chair back, “I believe it is time to go home.” He says, “I want to send Arya, Sansa and you back to Winterfell.” You stare. The corners of his lips turn upwards into what seems to be a small smile, “You are to be wed to my son, (Name). There is no reason for you to stay here anymore.”

{*}

But fate is a cruel being and seems to take joy from the misfortune and ill of others, especially you. It is hot today, just like any other day, which makes this one just like any other day as well. Not special in any way; the people down below continue their daily duties, the birds chirp and make nests in trees, even the rats in the sewers do not squeak in any higher or lower tone. Yet it all feels alien to you. The air breathes differently, the caste’s layout has been changed, and even your clothes do not seem a dark enough shade of black. The silk still glimmers, holds its charm and the sewn ornaments on it do nothing but add to its beauty. It feels as if the world is mocking you. Granted, at one point in time it certainly was, but now it feels different. More intense perhaps. Eyes follow you everywhere you go, smiles, so infectious and cheerful that they seem even more horrific. You still hear the cheers. Each time you close your eyes you are transported back to that day, a day like today, a day like any other day, with a crowd of onlookers happily ogling the main stage event that goes in tune with Sansa’s screaming.

You despise her. You had realized so once you opened the door to her bedchambers, saw her curled up by the window with her body trembling like a leaf. She was startled by the creek of the door and had looked you straight in the eye with those puffy shinning green ones of hers. Your feet had moved on their own, hers had too, and before you knew what was what she had embraced you so tightly your bones settled under her touch. Slowly your arms wrapped around her and you brought her closer if that was even possible. The scars on your back hissed with pain as if a reminder of what this girl had done to you. Mutual sorrow knitted the two of you together, but your own pain continued to cut that thread. You despise her, you had realized as your hand came to stroke her hair. Playful sunrays danced in them. They reminded you of blood.

And you despise her still, even when she rests her head in your lap and you continue to stroke her hair without a single word of objection. You let her sobs fill the room, you let her claw and grip on your dress all she pleases and you let her tears soak into the fabric as well. She deserves this compassion, she deserves to feel safe for at least a heartbeat and she deserves to grieve with someone she knows, someone from home. You despise her. But you loved her Father, loved how kind and true he was, loved how he treated your family. You love her brothers and sister: you love how Brann reminds you of you in your childhood, you love how sweet Rickon is, you love how Arya is not afraid to hold a sword, you love Robb for always being by your side and wishing you nothing but the best, for being a true friend…And you love Jon for all the same reasons and many more. You used to love Sansa as well. You remember those people, those names, and those simpler times and so you don’t mind being the only one she has right now.

You had promised her mother you will protect her. You promised her father you will protect her.

Her nails scratch through the fabric and her whole body shakes as if it wants to push something out, but the only thing that shows is more tears and a heartbreaking wail. Your fingers glide through her hair.

You are not a woman who breaks her promises.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg omgg new season omg omg!!!!!!!!11 i finally finished this mess of a chapter lol. the Cave parts will continue to unfold in future chapters, just think of it as a mini arc. super excited for the next chapter, which will be super duper better than this one. apologies, i just really needed to get lord stark outta the way. so much planned...so excited!!!!!!!!
> 
> also, am i literally the only person that doesn't ship danny and jon//???? like they are related for Christ sake  
> I also love the contrast between the chapters:  
> cha 7: "Because the man I see beside me does not deserve such a name."  
> cha 12: “You really are deserving of such names. "
> 
> cHAracTER DveLoPMEnT??


	13. [ a small note ]

Hello everyone! I know no one likes updates without an actual chapter, so I'll keep it brief.

The truth is, I'm really broke. I'm also starting college soon, and extra cash is something I really need. This is a 'small note', however, and I won't go into any juicy details for that matter alone. The main gist is: if you like what I do and do what I like (uh?), please, if you have any change to spare, click [_**HERE**_](https://ko-fi.com/A7418K3) and leave a coffee. Really, every penny helps. If you don't have any money, I understand, but if you can please spread the word. I really don't like asking for anything in life. I enjoy putting out content and I am beyond happy that people actually read and are happy because of it.

Updates will continue as usual, don't fret. I'll keep on writing no matter what <3


	14. queen of the north

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quickie note: trying something new. i guess it will be sorta like in the books now with different perspectives? i just think it's really cool to see the world and the reader through others eyes, idk

**CERSEI LANNISTER**

 

The room bathes in sunlight; the ornate golden and red decorations glimmer like small gems and reflect your shrunken or long distorted image. You take a calming breath and let the scent of wine roll off your tongue. Cersei watches you closely, her eyes appear even more striking than the last time she examined you this close. Behind the dark wooden table she sits leaned back, the plain walls of her chancery surround and clash with her beautiful garments and pretty blonde curls. She is not happy to see you, naturally you feel no different in being face to face with her. She lets the silence stretch and you don’t bother speaking either; there’s a sick satisfaction within her, you note the dance of mischief in her eyes, the upturn of her lips as she casually takes a sip of her favorite drink.

You stand in the shadows. The light doesn’t touch your pale skin, doesn’t create mirages on your dark dress. You appear cold. Your face resembles a ghost to her, with hollow cheekbones and eyes heavy with sorrow though refusing to show any of it. Cersei is pleased and curious to why you are here, why you requested her presence in private when barely any time has passed between Lord Starks - a loved one of yours as it seems - tragic death. But she doesn’t want to speak yet. She likes how defeated you are, enjoys how much suffering you must feel. _Serves you right_ , she thinks, _for touching something that was never yours._

She sets the goblet down and leans in her seat, not even trying to hide her amusement out of politeness, “Well now, so eager to meet yet so… _quiet_.” Her eyes drift up and down your body before she finds your gaze, “Do tell me what is so urgent. I am a Queen. I have no time for servants.”

There’s a sudden change in your expression, one she finds only slightly alarming as you take a few quick strides forward with your hands hooked behind your back. You stand tall; in the light you look just as tired, even more so perhaps, but behind the hard shield of your (colour) eyes she notes a spark of confidence and authority. You lift your chin up and refuse to sit down, even if that was your intention in the first place. Cersei doesn’t like that. Her fingers reach for her cup- “Not a handmaiden, Your Grace.” but fall flat as she looks at you again, “I had a change to title recently.” You say, your voice even and smooth, “I believe proper introductions should be given now. I am (Name) Keylock, First of Her Name, _Queen of the North_.”

Cersei’s face morphs from mild curiosity to anger, but she controls it perfectly and so you only see her nostrils flare as she glares at you, “ _Who do you think you are_?”

“I believe I just told you, Your Grace.” You reply, “A funny thing occurs when two Queens meet... I wonder what the future holds, don’t you?” You don’t leave her time to reply, it’s possible that there even is no reply to your rhetorical question, “I take responsibly for Lady Sansa now, as I am to be _wed_ to her brother. I hope no rifts will form between our two great families, Your Grace. You know that I have nothing but respect for you…That is why I chose to tell you first.” You finish. After deflecting her glare for another moment, you give a curt nod and excuse yourself. As you turn and march back to the doorway, Cersei’s chair groans as it skids backwards and her dress swishes gently as she stands up. She notes how frosty pale and tense the skin of your hands is from your tight grip.

“I could hang you for daring to speak this way to me.” She says through gritted teeth.

You stop. Slowly, you half turn to her, “I meant to disrespect in no way, Your Grace. Some… _friendly_ advice, if you are willing to take it. I not only representing House Stark now, but also House Keylock of Honeyholt, Highgarden…where the Crown and whole of Kings Landing get their food supply.” You smile, though it looks more strained than anything, “This _is_ how you play the Game of Thrones, is it not?... Have a good day, Your Grace.” You give her another curt bow and leave, this time without her stopping you.

 

 

**(NAME) KEYLOCK**

 

“You _fool_.”

Varys is not pleased, naturally you figured him to be furious but he only sounds disappointed, perhaps a tad angry but not entirely surprised. Your back straightens as you continue to gaze out the window without thinking anything really. The city truly is beautiful, the only beautiful thing here is the scenery, but you can’t say you would miss it if you were to return home. _Home_. A cold hand squeezes your chest and familiar faces flash in mind along with a friendly winter breeze. The sky darkens with northern clouds and this strange, pale blue hue reflects from wooden rooftops instead of golden or orange ones. Snowflakes dance in the air. A lulling cracking of fire echoes behind you. For only a split second you actually feel at home.

“—Have you _any_ idea what you have done?” Varys barks behind you and you snap out of it with a sharp inhale of warm air. Your heart hammers in your chest and a bead of sweat rolls down your neck; the humidness does nothing to make you less lightheaded and the encounter with Cersei still sends shivers. If you had not rehearsed your words that conversation would have ended much differently, perhaps with you defeated and in shambles. Cersei has been in this game for much longer than you even know of its existence. To tell the upmost truth, you still don’t fully realize what you are playing and for what. You have no intention on sitting on the Iron Throne and ruling the Seven Kingdoms. You simply want to feel safe, return to your small room in Winterfell with your mother humming in the kitchen and your father outside chopping wood. Have you missed them so dearly? Your heart spurs and your throat tightens so it is hard to breath. Clearing it you close your eyes, try to erase their face from your vision and collect those pesky astray thoughts.

You turn to Varys. He stands by your bedchambers door, his hands hiding in his silky green robe as they always do. It is hard to keep his gaze locked - his eyes are prying and burn like the sun if you stare for too long. So you don’t. You can’t. He takes advantage of your wavering confidence, “Lady (Name),” he tilts his head to the side, possibly to see you better as you continue to stare at your writing desk. It’s packed with open letters, all scattered and spotted with dark blue ink. Your neat and precise handwriting shifts in strange places, riddles with mistakes and crooks ever so slightly upwards as if you were in a hurry and with a mind that was ablaze in scattered thoughts when writing. Five letters to Robb sit all different in tone, all with different meanings and connotations as you couldn’t figure out how to properly express yourself. You don’t even notice the pause, “-you _do_ realize that you just told Cersei Lannister and had your servants announce it to the rest of the palace. Or is it something they decided to do on their own, without your orders?”

“They are my _servants_. That’s why you got me them, is it not?”

“Not for such a brash and childish move, _no_.” His voice jumps with controlled anger, almost like a parent scolding his child for stealing. You have never seen him like this before. It’s unnerving. Your throat runs dry with this bitter taste that curls in your stomach as dread and you feel like you are about to lose all control you have. You take a breath to ease your frying nerves. He does as well.

“…And what was I supposed to do, then?” You rasp, “ _Nothing_?”

“Sometimes nothing is _exactly_ what you should be doing.”

“Not this time.” You say firmly. Your eyes meet, “ _Not_ in this case, Lord Varys. You _saw_ what they did to the late Lord Stark. Do you honestly believe I, and Sansa, are any safer with my betrothal to Robb Stark of Winterfell being secret when there are people in this castle, _in this city_ , like _you_? Like Lord Baelish?” Your lips thin into a line, “It was bound to come out eventually. _Sooner_ than later, I’m afraid. Then they could have used it against me…Now _I_ will use it _against_ them.”

“In the Game of Thrones you either _win_ or you _die_ , Lady (Name).” Varys warns, “There is no such thing as simply _staying_ _alive_. Once you are in…” His expression crumbles, “You are only out in the afterlife.”

“Then I chose to win.” You state, “At any cost.”

“At _any_ cost?” He repeats in disbelieve. You recoil and your shoulders fall. “My, _child_ , you are begging to sound like the Queen herself…and that is certainly no compliment.” Your teeth grit and you feel like if you do not jump into action you will explode. In a fit you start to pace, first left then right and so forth, overflown with energy. Varys, however, simply watches you, watches what effect his words have on you and wonders just how early you will meet your grave with decisions like this. He sighs. “Tell me you have a plan, at the very least.” You stop pacing. Your hands hook behind your back again.

“I do.” You say, “It may not be perfect, but I believe if _we_ work together I will live to tell this tale.”

“I’m listening.”

“I don’t have any power. I and Robb are not married so my title means nothing.” You ponder, “But I still have my name. _Keylock_. My uncle will support me if I ask him.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on Lord Henrik Keylock?” Varys asks, “He is a friend of the Lannister’s as I recall.”

You nod, “With Lord Tywin Lannister, to be specific. But if I ask…” Your eyes glaze over with forgotten memories and your tone drops coldly, “He will take my side. He is the key to my survival here, _whether I like it or not_ …” You add quietly, more to yourself than to Varys. He frowns in confusion.

“You once said he is a _Great_ man. Not a _Good_ one. And _Great_ men chose honor over their family.”

“…Not over me.”

 

 

**ROBB STARK**

 

_My dearest Robb,_

_I wish I was writing on different, more joyous perhaps, circumstances than now. Words fail to express the pain I feel, the pain you must feel._ _Your father was, is and always will be a good man in my eyes, and he did not deserve such a sudden and unfair demise. It was a coward’s move. What they did they can never undo. Not to me. Not to us._

_A lot of things happened. I am afraid that if I even dared to speak on any of them, you would not believe me, that your trust would weaver. And I cannot handle that, not now at least. I need you. Your sisters need you. But I am not writing to tell you that I miss you, or warn you of dangers I am sure you are aware of…I am writing to you because I want you to know that you were right. To tell you the complete truth this was a selfish decision of mine. I believed that there was no place for me in Winterfell, I wanted to see the world and all its beauty and to accompany Sansa as a handmaiden was only a pretext. I was wrong. I saw too much and now I feel like I will explode if I do not return. Before Lord Stark’s death he had informed me his plans to send me and your two sisters, home. I am sad he never got the chance…And I do not have one either. They will not let us leave, I know they will not. Not with all this chaos in Kings Landing, in the North…I promise to protect your sisters with my life until you come to get them. In turn, I ask nothing but for you to hurry._

_The only way to keep our families strong and safe is for us to be together. I hope I can see you soon. I'm sending all of my love and praying to the Old Gods and the New that it reaches you._

_Yours, (Name) Keylock_

It is dark. The dim candle lights creates a sort of welcoming glow, but the cold wind howling behind the flaps of the tent does nothing to create even a smidge of warmth, but he does feel it in his chest. It swells up as he examines your writing, counts the dot’s on your ‘i’s and how many you missed, counts the drops of ink on the side of the paper and smiles despite himself. Despite that this is no happy occasion, despite that he is at war and that you and his family are in great danger. Robb Stark re-reads your letter more times than needed. He cannot help himself. He misses you.

“ _Well_?” Catelyn’s voice pierces the air and he is distracted for a moment; lazily he flicks his eyes upwards to see his mother’s ghostly face stand by the entrance of his tent. There are a few snowflakes in her tight braid and on the bridge of her nose, shoulders, even in the crevices of her leather gloves. Her eyes jump from him to the letter and back and she is quick to reach his side, yank it out of his grasp and skim over it. After she’s done she looks at him and for the first time in a while he sees her smile, even if it’s a small one that graces her lips, “That (Name)…” She murmurs fondly, her eyes tracing back to the letter as her gloved thumbs rub the parchment, “I knew she was the right woman for you.”

But he knows something is wrong, and Catelyn does too. Neither of them voice their concerns, though. You had always been Robb’s friend… And you had never used such tender and kind words when addressing him, when addressing anyone.

Robb knows you do not love him, at least, not as much as he would hope to or want to. The letter must’ve been opened, perhaps you were playing the spies that wanted to read it…Or perhaps your feelings truly have changed. He inhales a deep breath. If only… if only in your time apart did you truly realize just how much you mean to him. Winterfell is not the same without you. It’s bleaker, colder, the sun doesn’t shine as often and the winter winds howler louder than ever. Anything, _everything_ , you had you took with you to those foreign lands with never intending to return.

Knowing that you want to makes him happy, too happy perhaps.

Catelyn quietly folds the letter, lets it sit in her hands for another moment before she steps to the nearest candle. She watches the white wax drip before carefully holding the sandpaper above the flickering flames until it catches on fire. She drops it in and it melts into the fire.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: official note is here! hello everyone! sorry for the wait, but this fic is so difficult to write and i'm trying not to make it cringy. i know there's a terrible lack of romance in it, and again, sorry, but since the reader's morals are coming into question i say it's about time we indulge in some light romance. jon is still nr.1 but hey - he's in the north, and as much as i want to make her appear there like wam bam shazam, it ain't gonna happen for a while... if anyone has thoughts, ideas, suggestion you are free to send them my way.  
> i still hope you find this fic interesting. it's sorta like being in GoT yourself??  
> anyway, i think we are expierencing character development? idk im trying
> 
> thank you for the kudos and comments xx love yall and see you soon!


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